


Twice Over

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Traders (TV 1995)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captivity, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest, Young atlanteans without Atlantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-16
Updated: 2009-02-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 92,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6876493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A middle-aged detective entered the room with two cups of coffee in his hands. "Hey, I'm Detective Jerry Davies, sorry to keep you waiting. Coffee?"</p><p>"Please." He was 16, so apparently they weren't going to treat him like a child, but the waiting, the being taken away from Grant... </p><p>"Here we go." He pushed the mug over. "So. Meredith Rodney McKay. I see you didn't take the Williams surname. You've certainly thrown the department for a loop. Breaking and entering into your own home?"</p><p>Rodney wrapped his fingers tightly around the mug, looking down at it. "I was just going in to get my brother out. I don't have a key to the house. They didn't expect me to come home for another two weeks."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have two co-authors who humor me when I want to write the same story twice; Another version of [His Brother's Keeper](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6876799).

He might as well have gotten out of the car and pushed the damn thing down the road.

The Chevy Vega his stepfather had gotten him might as well have been a three-wheeled tricycle, for all the speed he'd had on his too-long trip. It had a rusty body, and the engine had overheated twice, but in a way that he could pull off the road and pop the engine and pray that it didn't turn into a full-on fire. It had put him behind his travel plan -- he'd hoped to be there at midnight, but he'd coasted up the street at about 4 am, strung out and tired and still full of go go go, because he was going to Bring Grant Home.

He was going to get home, get out, get safe, and that was the whole reason he was out there with his fresh driver's license, and his classes just barely finished and a whole summer to get Grant on track and well, and then they could start together in the Fall, and everything would be all right.

Everything would be all right and he kept that in his head as a mantra while he snuck around to the side of the house to pry up a window.

His mother couldn't know he was sneaking back, and it was going to be fine even if she had changed the code on the secret room. He could crack that if he had to, but he was betting on her being lazy and assuming that because he was meant to be at least six hours away she wouldn't need to change it.

Nerves made him a bit clumsy, but he'd remembered a crowbar and he jimmied the window open and slipped in.

It wasn't easy, but it was. With all of the frustrations and his nerves and his fears and the warning jangle in the back of his head when he pulled himself into the house, it was still... Okay. It was still all okay. Mother and his stepfather and Jeannie were safe in their beds, unaware of him as he set his feet down and carried the crow bar with him in case there were any other unforeseen barriers. There was just the living room itself, the stairwell that led upstairs, the front door, and off to the side, in the back of the room, the narrow door that led downstairs.

He could've let himself in but he wanted it to be a break-in or breakout because she'd assume that Grant got out alone and would waste time looking here, while he was running back to college. 

He padded downstairs with a silence that was innate. He knew every tell-tale in the stairs, he knew how to creep down, had done for years. 

Hah. Codes were the same.

That was lazy of her, that was all it was. Heinously lazy, but she thought he was still down at Northwestern, still taking tests. Still sitting exams, when he'd taken them all early as possible, ahead of schedule. She'd never guess. Never. 

He crept down the stairs slowly, hand on the banister as he invaded the too familiar space. It was pitch black, but he knew where the lone light switch was.

Door was shut behind him, light on and he was in his Mother's classified home away from home and he made his way unerringly to the back corner, reaching for the bolts, discretely hidden. It was really happening, he was really doing this.

He was going to pull Grant out and they could get away from it all. They'd be safe and Grant could have the opportunities that he'd had and it would all just fit. The way it should have been from the start, all of it. He leaned into it with his shoulders, the motion familiar before the 'door' gave under his touch, quietly swinging out. It couldn't swing in, there just wasn't enough room for that in the space where the two of them had lived.

Grant wasn't immediately visible, which meant he had curled into a fetal position in one of his favored spots. Things must’ve been bad for him recently because he was cocooning himself in every bit of blanket that he had.

He crept forwards, careful to not step on anything he could see in the faint light that puddled into the room from the cellar's light itself. "Grant." There was a curl of blankets in the corner, and that was Grant, had to be. "*Grant*." He reached for it, ready to pull at blankets, shake Grant, and haul him up.

There was a twitch and then what could only be described as a flail, which was actually a good sign. Grant sometimes went unresponsive. But the fact he was whimpering a little, that meant he wasn't as bad as all that, if he stopped panicking. So Rodney leaned in close, because he knew that closeness was key, closeness could be comfort and weapon rolled into one. He pressed in, fingers digging under the covers, looking for Grant's shoulders. "Grant. It's me. It's me."

"R... Rodney?" There it was, the sudden clinging impact of his brother latching on to him. "No, no… you're not here now. Meant to be out, away. "

"Shhh. We're leaving. I'm here for you." Just for Grant, because Grant was worth travelling that far, Grant was worth driving that piece of shit car *that* far, just to rescue him. "C'mon."

"Leaving? No, no...no Rodney," Grant mumbled. "Can't. Here. Meant to be here. Have to be here. It's wrong."

He pulled Grant closer, fingers feeling at Grant's ribs, sliding over thin fabric, pushing the blankets away. "No, no, this is wrong, this is all wrong, you shouldn't be here, neither of us. We're leaving now."

He felt Grant flinch a little but he moved a little, getting up when he prompted. "Where are we going? There's, there's... I'm hungry. Things are hungry and dark here."

"We'll get you food. We're going to where I've been, we're going *out* of here." He felt shaky, too-thin, and the smell down there was horrifying, but it was like coming home, like what other people called nostalgia, and that made Rodney's stomach twist in his body. "That's it, stand up with me, Grant, I promise this is good."

"Milkshake? And chocolate. I like chocolate." Grant held on to him, looking directly at him in one of the rare moments he made eye contact with anyone, before looking away. He was getting up and moving and Rodney was pretty sure the slowness was to do with weakness now, rather than reluctance.

Rodney reached his left hand out, stroking at Grant's hair. "I know. I know, we'll get chocolate milkshakes, okay? I'll take you to get chocolate milkshakes, I'm so sorry, I should've come for you sooner. We need to go now, okay?" He could keep hands on Grant, keep him moving. 

"Okay," and Grant was sidling along, blinking out into the light and he looked worse than he'd seen him for a long time. He'd never realized how much the extras he'd managed to sneak had been keeping his brother alive. 

"Okay, good. We'll go get something to eat and everything's going to be better now, I promise..." He held Grant close, a hand sliding along his side, and there was some kind of cut there, it felt? A warp of skin beneath his t-shirt, and Rodney didn't have the opportunity to see what his hand was touching when he heard the whoop whoop of sirens outside.

Fuck.

"There's noise, loud and... and Rodney, this is not good. No, no, not good at all. You should go. Mom will find you, and then I'll never see you again, and I won't have anyone to bring milkshakes or, or... chocolate, or...light," Grant said in his rapid fire way. "And I wanted to tell you about the new idea, and hear about your new things, and there are sirens, yes."

"We're still leaving." Grant felt like he was stopping, but Rodney started forwards, and he heard footsteps above them, on the first floor of the house, and a door sound, something being hit, he wasn't sure, and the urge to cower back himself was high. But he pulled at Grant instead.

They were moving but not fast enough; he didn't have time to let Grant clutch at the one or two things that he could be said to actually own. His brother wasn't walking right and stumbling, but he was moving with him. They wouldn't be thinking someone breaking and entering would be going to the basement....

Unless his mother told them that was where her classified work was stored. Shit!

He started up the stairs, trying to get to the window before they got any sense out of her.

He'd gotten his feet on the second step when the door at the top of the steps swung open, the new light source blinding him.

"Put your hands up in the air! Put your *hands* up in the air!"

"I didn't break in! We just want to get out of here!" He didn't move yet, couldn't let go of Grant. 

Grant looked panicked and one hand shot in the air even as he threw himself across Rodney, either in a strange way of protecting him or seeking comfort.

"You were seen breaking in through a downstairs window, so hands in the air!"

"Wait..." A new unfamiliar man's voice spoke. "Look at him, Mark. What the hell, there's blood all over that shirt. Old blood. That didn't happen in the last ten minutes. What's going on here?"

It wasn't supposed to go that way. It wasn't supposed to *happen* that way, and Rodney wrapped his right arm tight around Grant and put his left in the air, even though he was behind Grant now. It was funny what made Grant move fast sometimes. "I, I broke in. I pried up the side window, and I crawled through it, because this is my brother, and she's kept him down here, and I just came home from college to get him out. I go to Northwestern in the United States. I'm a good student. I, I just came home to get my brother out."

"Mark, C'mon, something's not right here," the other man said to the cop with the gun trained on them. "I think we've got more than breaking and entering here."

"I'm not taking any chances. Get some cuffs on them, Jeff, then we'll take a look around." He held the gun on them even as the other cop took his handcuffs and approached them to put cuffs on them both. Grant panicked the moment that "Jeff" touched him.

"Don't touch, no touching, Rodney, my, my space! In my space!"

And what was he supposed to do, do what the cops told him, or put his hands behind his back like 'Jeff' was trying to do for Grant. "No, this is Veronica and Jeff Williams' house, and their daughter Jeannie lives here, and I'm Rodney McKay and this is Grant, Jeff is m-mom's second husband, she buried our father in the corner there, in the cement, *please* don't cuff Grant."

As it turned out, Grant solved the problem by collapsing on the floor and curling up, which Rodney knew meant he must have been feeling bad, because normally he would've run to a corner before huddling. The cop was left standing there, not sure what to do. "Okay, kid. You saying there's been a murder here?"

The other cop was on the radio calling for back up. They'd come out on a straightforward breaking and entering and now it was escalating into homicide and Rodney knew it had to be obvious that they'd been abusing Grant. "What's your name, kid?"

"Rodney McKay. Meredith Rodney McKay." He stayed still, torn between trying to kneel down and get Grant to uncurl, and standing very still because the police were *looking* at him. And then he heard Jeff upstairs, and his mother's voice, the what's going on questions, the...

"That's a classified area! I keep government materials down there, all of you get out!" Except, there was nothing classified. Old boxes, a worktable, and his and Grant's room. The pot in the corner that passed for a toilet, the pitcher of drinking water Grant got.

"Ronnie? Veronica, what's... look, they've caught the burglars, I told you I was right to call," Jeff said as he headed down the stairs and paused. "Rodney? But, what are you doing here?"

His father looked like a deer in headlights. "Who the hell is that?"

"Grant. It's *Grant*, you stupid fucking bastard, either you're lying or you're *that* stupid, you had to have known, we *lived* down here, you, you..." He started up the stairs, and the policeman grabbed his arm, and slapped the cuffs on him, and it was all wrong, all of it. It wasn't supposed to go like that, he was supposed to have gotten Grant into his shitty car and they could’ve been on the *road*.

It wasn't suppose to end up with him being hustled out of the house, bright lights shining in his eyes and a cop pushing his head down to get in the car. It wasn't supposed to end with Grant being carried out by paramedics, or busy clusters of detectives descending on the house to the accompaniment of the shrill rising tones of his mother's voice, audible even from where he was sat waiting in the car. 

They were meant to have a life, finally. A life away from the lie that was his family where Grant would be fine because she wasn't doing things to him any more because he was smart. Smarter in some ways than he was because otherwise would he be here in the police car with his rights being read to him, but his brother was damaged. It wasn't his fault, but that would fix itself. Grant could be at college and they'd be all the family they needed.

 

The holding cell was clean and white and cement brick, painted over, bright and bright and bright and his head hurt and he was tired and the handcuffs were off but he was in a new cell all on his own, and that was why he'd come there, to get Grant *out*, but they thought he, what, wanted to steal things? There wasn't anything in that house that was worth shit, except Grant and Jeannie, and the piano in the living room. And Jeannie was fine, safe, *safe*, and he wasn't, Grant wasn't, and he'd gotten Grant out, except where was Grant now?

A middle-aged detective entered the room with two cups of coffee in his hands. "Hey, I'm Detective Jerry Davies, sorry to keep you waiting. Coffee?"

"Please." He was 16, so apparently they weren't going to treat him like a child, but the waiting, the being taken away from Grant... 

"Here we go." He pushed the mug over. "So. Meredith Rodney McKay. I see you didn't take the Williams surname. You've certainly thrown the department for a loop. Breaking and entering into your own home?"

Rodney wrapped his fingers tightly around the mug, looking down at it. "I was just going in to get my brother out. I don't have a key to the house. They didn't expect me to come home for another two weeks."

"Perfect time for some breaking and entering," Jerry said pleasantly. "So, tell me about your brother?"

"We're twins. Identical, but, I don't think she... she's been feeding him while I was at college. Our mother keeps him in the basement. She kept me there with him until I was seven or eight, I..." He wasn't going to look at the man, wasn't going to give him that much. He was just going to keep his eyes on the coffee, and then try taking a sip. "Got really sick, I have a food allergy to citrus and some of the food she gave us had it, and Grant's not allergic, so after she took me to the hospital, it, Jeff saw me, and suddenly I was allowed to live upstairs and he still wasn't. There's a combination lock at the top of the cellar door, and then a second room in the back, and that was our room."

"Mm, yes, we discovered that room." Detective Davies leaned back. "You're telling me that the two of you lived in that room and no one knew?"

Rodney leaned back a little, and took another sip of the coffee. "Yeah. I... that's what I'm telling you."

"So, any reason why, after you were 'let out' that you didn't say anything before? To anyone?"

That question. He'd thought about it before, and rolled it around in his mind for a moment before he shrugged tightly. "She buried our father in the cellar with us. I, I played with blocks in the first room of the cellar while she poured cement over him, and Grant still talks about the doll under the floor, and I never told him, it..." He waved a hand, and then wrapped it around the cup again because his fingers were shaking. "I'm sixteen and I'm going to *university* in the states. Free ride, paid in full, and our birthday was last month, and I'm still scared of her."

"Why did she keep you both in the room?" the detective asked."What happened all that time?"

"We were bad. We were loud. We were just like our father." He rolled his shoulders again, and twisted the mug between his hands. "A lot of the time, she left us alone. Me and Grant. We had toys and books and she fed us roughly when we needed it, and we had each other. Sometimes she hit us. A lot of... little injuries. When we, after I went upstairs, she gave me the pass code downstairs and taking care of Grant was my responsibility. And if I was bad, I couldn't, he didn't get food or company or homework to work on with me, and then I had to earn it, with her. I had to, sometimes we both had to." He could feel his face turning red, his stomach twisting, and he was being vague because he didn't want to dwell on it. "When can I see Grant? He's not used to other people. I want to see Grant."

"Are you saying your mother abused you physically...and in other ways?" Jerry asked leaning forward. "The both of you?"

What the hell. The *look* he was giving him was that he was lying, or something, and Rodney didn't know why he'd lie about that, but he wasn't. "Yes. And I wasn't breaking and entering -- I was trying to get my brother out, and I was going to take him to school with me and everything would just... stop. We'll be okay, I just want to get him away from her."

"Interesting. Your mother claims to not have a clue what you are talking about. She claims that your father disappeared with you both when you were young and dumped you on the doorstep when you were ill. She said she suspected you to be delusional." The detective looked at him. "She believes it more likely that you found your brother being abused by his father and brought him back here."

Rodney rubbed at his face. "He's never been to *school*. I only went once she let me out. No, this is crazy, you can check the cellar, she buried our father in the cement, he's been dead since we were two or three."

"Oh, believe me, we're checking all aspects of your story," Jerry said with a smile. "How old are you, Rodney? Or is it Meredith? "

"I go by Rodney. I'm not a girl. And Grant's is Grant, except his first name is Beverly. But, he's Grant." Rodney sat back in the chair again. "I turned 16 on April 18th."

"So you're in college already? And you were going to look after your brother? How were you going to do that?" Jerry asked.

"I have a scholarship." Rodney took another sip of coffee already. "He could stay in the dorms with me, and we've split food before, and I have a car. It's the Chevy Vega parked outside of the house."

"It's being looked at, at the moment." The detective exhaled. "Look, Rodney, all of this is being checked out by forensics. A little bit longer and we'll know who's telling the truth. Personally, I'm inclined to believe you, Rodney."

"I just want to get my brother away from her. He should have had the opportunities I did. He's brilliant." He finally had to look at the detective, because the tabletop was boring. "Is he okay? I felt something weird on his side when we were walking."

"He’s at the hospital. He shows evidence of physical abuse Rodney. Not all recent. I don't know all the details, but I believe he had an abscess on his side." The detective finished his coffee. "He hasn't spoken to anyone or answered any questions since he was admitted."

"Can I see him? He'll talk to me." Abscess. That, that was neglect, and why should she take *him* to the hospital but not Grant?

"When I get the word from our CSI's," Jerry answered. "The doctors have requested your presence as well."

Grant would be terrified. He was hurt, and alone and he wasn't used to people.

"So when they say, I can go see him?" He was most of the way through the cup of coffee, but he needed more. "I drove here, straight from North Western, and my car broke down a couple of times on the way up and I haven't slept since yesterday."

"Okay, we'll get you sorted out. Tell you what, I'll spring for something to eat for you. Burger?" Jerry offered magnanimously. "You might have to sleep in a cell."

"The way things have been going for me, I'm not surprised. Yeah, I'd appreciate something to eat. I was promising Grant chocolate milkshakes earlier, but they probably don't allow that at the hospital."

"We'll see what we can do about that, as well."

The part of Rodney’s mind that constantly analyzed things was reporting in that they had to be pretty sure he wasn't to blame, otherwise he wouldn't be getting this sort of consideration.

Food, and okay, sleeping in a cell, sure, but it wasn't like they had roll out beds for visitors there and they probably had rules about letting people sleep in the waiting room. "Grant'd like that. He has a sweet tooth."

"You know... if your story bears out, you're going to have to be put into care?" 

"I'm going to college," Rodney pointed out. "Just finished my freshman year."

"But you're 16, the both of you," Jerry replied. "There's two years yet. You would be placed with a family for that time, college or not."

He'd finished the coffee but he wasn't going to surrender the mug yet. "And we won't have to see our mother anymore? Or Jeff? I just, he gave me my car, but he never *noticed*, so, I... prefer to not see him."

"If your accusations prove to have a basis, then you will be required to not see your mother," Jerry replied. "Look, there are people who know more about this than I do, but I've gotta say, it's not easy to place two kids together."

It was slowly getting worse and worse, Rodney decided. "He's my *twin*. We can't, I came *back* for him, I don't want to be separated again." 

"Well, we'll work on that too," Davies said. "Okay, let's find you somewhere to sleep tonight, and hopefully later we'll go see your brother okay?"

Rodney stood up slowly, steadying himself on the table. He had to, just had to be with Grant again, or it was a waste for both of them because Grant *needed* him and he needed Grant, and if they thought that he and Grant were going to go to two separate homes, the police clearly hadn't heard of the term 'running away'.

But maybe it wasn't going to come to that.

 

It was bright here and too many people with strange smells. People were touching him and he didn't like that, no, it was wrong so he'd screamed and refused to uncurl until there had been a small sharp pain.

Then he'd woken up and he smelled different and there were different clothes that felt strange and sheets that weren't his blanket and strange monitors beeping and he was sleepy still.

He felt drifty and sleepy and weird, it was all weird in there, weird enough to make him stay quiet, except when people touched him and they weren't supposed to. He'd never had other people in his *space*, and he didn't want them there, and they kept trying and he figured that that was why he was sleepy now.

He knew he was sleepy because the numbers and patterns in his head were all dancing slow and strange rather than the flickering speed he was used to. He was focused on the weave of the thread in the pillowcase next to his eyes. There was someone else in the room and they still weren't Rodney.

He knew Rodney, by smell, by sound. He knew how Rodney moved, what he sounded like when he breathed, and that wasn't Rodney.

"How are you feeling, Grant?"

Oh, oh, it was the strange sounding man. Didn't sound like the others here, or Rodney. The voice was soft and had no hard edges. He didn't like hard edges. He risked a glance up at the man. Blue eyes. Darker than Rodney's. But blue was nice. Something tugged at his side as he shifted and he whimpered a little.

"I know you have to be in pain, Grant." His voice went up and down up and down, soft noises that he did like the sound of. "Do you want to tell me how you were hurt?"

"No," he said because he didn't. He curled a little more, tucking the covers in around him. He wanted Rodney. Rodney would hold him and make it better because he hadn't forgotten him no matter what mom had said.

She'd said he hated Grant, and that he was never coming back, and that was a lie, a horrible horrible lie, because Rodney always came back for him. And he had, he'd come one more time and... he'd come again. The numbers said so. 

"If you tell me how you were hurt, I think I can get the police to bring your brother in."

"Rodney?" He hadn't wanted to react but he was promising to bring Rodney. He looked at the new man. "I, I, not allowed to tell. She won't let him see me."

"She doesn't have any say in what happens to you anymore. If you can tell me how it happened, I can tell the police, and the police will let your brother see you." He shifted, just a little closer, smiling at Grant. "I'm Doctor Beckett. Lachlan Beckett."

"Lachlan is, is a strange name," Grant said and it was something unusual enough to stop his thoughts circling. "I want Rodney. You're close to me. Nearly too close, but not quite... Mom did it. "

"Lachlan's Scottish. I'm from the other side of the ocean," the man said, and he was smiling. "I'll be back in a few moments, Grant. All right?"

The other side of the ocean. That was a long way. No one had told him how far because he would remember the numbers like he always did. Maybe he was gone now and it would be quiet, but the machine was beeping.

He didn't like the machine at first, but it seemed to sound like him. When he'd fought the people earlier, it had made wild noises, screamed and beep beep beeped frantically and Grant liked the machine now. Just because it seemed to know that he had a problem with things. With touching.

He heard the door, heard the chair again. "Grant, can you tell me what your mother used on your side?"

Dark and something glowing. "Hot thing. My brother says burns are bad ." They left behind crinkly skin and would go all oozy and horrible. "Hot and pointed. Solder."

"Solder. Do your mother solder around you a lot?" There was something that he could hear in the man's voice, but it didn't make sense. It sounded like when Rodney was going to make promises. "Does she hurt you a lot? You have a lot of scars."

"I don't like the question," Grant said backing away as far as he could in the bed. "I don't like it. I, I... I'm bad a lot."

That would answer the question.

"You're not bad." He sounded very firm about that, but he still didn't touch Grant, which was good. "I know you don't believe it now, but you're not bad. Get a little rest, Grant. Your brother will be here soon."

He drew his knees up, and would've rocked a little if he'd been able to, but it hurt and he was still sleepy and the man with the soft voice who was Scottish had left him alone again with the beep, beep, beep of the monitor.

The beep beep beep went on until he was beeping along with it, trying to get it to beep differently, holding his breath, anything to get it to beep differently.

That was when the door opened again, and he heard Rodney trip into the room. "Grant!"

He stuttered on his last beep and pushed himself up, trying to get out of the bed to get to Rodney, but there were sheets and lines and needle things and he tangled himself up because his brain wasn't working right. "R... Rodney! My, my clothes went. You went."

"I went," Rodney agreed, and Rodney was right there, moving to hug him, and he'd missed that, not weird people's hands on him. "The police took me, and now they brought me back."

Hugging was good. Hugging made things better and Rodney smelled a little different as well and he breathed in deeply. "I was scared you weren't coming. She said you were never coming back."

"She lied." Rodney's fingers slid over his back, over and over, then up to his hair. "I'm back. I'm back and I'm not going to let them keep me away, okay?"

"Okay." Okay, okay, okay. He smiled a little. "Are we leaving? Can I have a milkshake?"

"We're not leaving yet. But up, the officer here wants to talk to you, and he did bring a milkshake and some other stuff." Rodney was pulling away, looking for a chair, and that was good.

"Don't like talking," Grant grumbled as he pulled his knees up. But a milkshake was great. "Milkshake!"

"Milkshake!" the officer agreed, and Rodney was smiling as the other man presented Grant a big paper cup with a straw sticking out of it. "I'm Detective Davies. Your brother said you liked chocolate."

"I'm right, too," Rodney said from his chair, pulling it closer to the bed, until plastic edge was right against Grant's bed and Rodney crouched there.

"Rodney is always right," Grant said. "Except about application of imaginary numbers. More dimensions and they work." He took the milkshake warily and sucked at it. The taste was maybe the third best thing he had tasted after the chocolate Rodney had gotten him 157 days ago and the sweet he had had 4378 days ago. That had been the best taste ever.

He wanted another of those, but Rodney wouldn't remember what it was, and that had been 4282 after he'd had the sweet, and Grant wasn't going to hold out much hope for it. But it was an exceedingly good milkshake. Rodney reached out, just put a hand on his lower leg, and seemed to relax.

"Grant, your brother said you might answer a couple of questions for me."

He flicked a glance at the man and looked down though he could see everything about him in his memory. The mole on his hairline, the thinness of his lips, his eyes brown with a flick of black on the right iris. The number of his badge, which was a nice prime number so that meant he was a good guy. "Oh. Okay Mr. Prime."

Rodney looked at his badge too, and then seemed to relax, so he'd seen it too and sometimes Grant really wondered about his brother's observational skills to have not seen that already. "Okay, good. I need to know what happened tonight, as you saw it."

He looked at Rodney and then picked at the sheet. "I...I was trying to sleep but I hurt. So I was playing the seconds game to go to sleep. And… and it was dark, then there was light and Rodney was there. Mom had told me Rodney was never coming back for me but Rodney had promised. Rodney said we could leave and I'd have a milkshake and chocolate and be together and I was sc... scared. I'm not meant to come out."

Mr. Prime looked at him, nodding and frowning all at the same time. "Have you been out before?"

"Sometime if I have been good, mom lets me play with equations for her in her room," Grant rocked a little at that. "I… I like that. Numbers are...peaceful and exciting and they make patterns on the paper." 

"I meant out of the cellar," the man prompted.

He tilted his head at him. "No. Never been out. Too bad for that." He picked at the sheet again, feeling the softness against his fingers.

"You're out now," the detective pointed out, rummaging into a paper bag. "I've got this really huge burger here, you two want to split it while we talk? I ran it past the doctor, and he said that in moderation, you should be okay."

Rodney sat up a little, and reached to take it from the detective. "It has bacon."

"Bacon is good. I had bacon on, on July 15th, 1983. It was good." He looked at Rodney. He had assumed it wasn't for him even though he had smelled it and was hungry. Most things weren't for him. He waited for Rodney to give him his share patiently and then ate it rapidly completely focused on the tastes and texture of his part of the burger.

Rodney was slower eating, lingering, and then he fished out one of the bacon pieces on the burger and held it out to Grant as an additional offering, and it was so good. The burger had bacon and lettuce and mustard, no ketchup or mayo, but something that tasted like onions in tiny crispy strings, and cheese, cheddar, and the bun was softish.

"Grant, I want you to tell me just... a rough overview of how things happened, from when you were little until now."

"That could take time. I remember everything, Mr. Prime," he said to the man around a mouthful. "Rodney and I were alone for a long time together and, and it was dark. There was a rat once. We thought it was a rat. I called it Rattie. It might've been a mouse, but I called it Rattie. I liked him."

"It bit me," Rodney murmured against his burger bun.

"It's okay, kid. I have lots of time. This is going to be an official statement to the police so we can pursue what to do next with a little more clarity."

"Rodney and I had a light and sometimes there were books and things. We taught ourselves to read and, and... sometimes the light would go out and it would take a long time for another bulb to work. Mom... put a, a big doll thing under the floor but I don't think we were meant to play with it. Mom would come sometimes and do things because we were wrong. She said it would put us right. But later she said we were never right and it was because we should've been like her."

Rodney was quiet, and it was funny that Rodney was letting Grant talk, but he seemed to be enjoying his half of the burger and his own milkshake. It was all very, very nice. "Go on. If you're comfortable doing so. What things did she do?"

Not such nice questions. "Things." he said. "We didn't like them. Hurt things. Rodney, don't like this." He looked pleadingly at his brother. He didn't like the talking now.

"Just tell him what she did, Grant. Just once. Just once, and you won't ever have to see her again and I promise she won't ever hurt you again," Rodney promised, and he did, he kept his promises. 

He had promised him a chocolate milkshake and he had a chocolate milkshake. He'd promised to come back and he had. He'd brought him math so the darkness in his room in the cellar became filled with the light of his own mind making numbers dance. "She, she hit me for being bad and Rodney too. Sometimes I was bad a lot. She says I am broken." His mind was his mind. He could see he wasn't the same because people didn't see things that he saw, or know the same things and that was broken. "She said I wasn't hers, if, if, I was broken and from that man. She...would tell me to hold still and hold still while she..." His hands flailed a little trying to make shapes of broken moments in his head and he had a headache that was blinding. "Not always hurt but I didn’t like it. But she did and if she was happy she would give us food."

The detective looked over at Rodney, and Rodney shook his head, and Grant knew he was cutting the man off, telling him to stop, rewind, find a different tactic or topic or anything, and that was good because Grant couldn't *say* any more than that, didn't want to say what it was like, the view, the moment, their mother that close, close enough to make him...

And he wasn't going to think about it. "Okay. I might have other questions later, but right now, I'm going to see if I can find that social services woman, see what we can do for the two of you."

He nodded and ducked his head waving good bye to Mr. Prime who had been as good as his number and reaching out with his hand to just hold on to whatever bit of Rodney was close to him. "Is she going to find us another cellar?" he asked Rodney in a low whisper.

Rodney shook his head, and shifted closer, legs pulled up into the chair, and if he wanted to sit on the bed, Grant didn't know why he wasn't up there already. "Foster care, apparently. We're under-age. I'm not going to let them place us separately."

"Okay." He hadn't liked being on his own in the cellar. With Rodney there was always thinking about things, and the science journals mom threw in there to think about. She didn't like it when they corrected them, but they did it secretly and it was a tiny spark of rebellion. He curled there and Rodney should've been curled with him and his eyes flicked around the room. He noticed for the first time the box in the corner and pointed at it without looking at it. "What's that?" he asked.

"TV." Rodney shifted, uncurling from the chair and then standing up. "Let's see what's on." On? On, and Rodney was turning the box on, and it lit up to show them people inside. It was a little fuzzy, but Rodney fussed with the wires at the back, and stepped back and stepped in close again to fix it different until the picture stayed when he stepped back, and the sound was up loud enough to hear. "There. I think the police might make me stay in a cell again tonight, or send me somewhere tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow."

Grant was mesmerized by the moving pictures. He'd read about TV but never seen it. "I don't want you to go."

His eyes were focused on the screen though.

"I don't want to go, either." Rodney shifted, and then he was finally up sitting beside Grant on the bed, and that was better. That was much better, much easier to watch the screen because Rodney was right there beside him.

 

His mother was cleaning again. 

It wasn't just cleaning, it was outright room rearrangement -- the last time she'd done that, they'd had a seven year old boy whose mother had cut his hand off living with them. He'd stayed for three years, and part of that last year had been going back and forth with a couple who wanted to adopt him, and who did adopt him. There were other children, ones who just stayed for a few weeks, but Carson remembered William as sharp as day, and sometimes wondered what'd happened to him. Last he'd known was that William's new family had moved out to British Columbia. He hoped he was safe and well, and it was hard to be jealous of the attention the foster children got, not when he was the youngest of seven brothers and sisters to start with. Carson supposed he could consider himself lucky he didn't have 6 more brothers and sisters who were younger than him. 

But this was two rooms and she'd stripped them down -- which was a little strange -- and he'd helped her re-build the stark spaces slowly into something a little homier but not... still, not cluttered. He didn't get why. She'd put books Collin had left at home in the one room, and now she was up in the attic, scrounging for the toys Carson had had as a babe. Toy soldiers and the windup steel-bodied horse his grandfather had given him, and blocks, which left Carson stirring dinner on the stove while they waited for their father to come home. 

With, Carson assumed, the newest fosters.

While she wasn't around he allowed himself a moment just to... well, not sulk, but just be a little annoyed. He had exams to finish and he wanted to do well, if he was going to college early and now he was going to be having to cope with whatever attention these ones needed. His mum was used to dealing with the difficult cases and often they came from the hospital or his dad heard about them and suggested their family. On the other hand he wasn't competing with Isobel and the twins anymore since they had left home and they didn't spend their life trying to torment their baby brother.

He didn't even know how old these two were. They could be young. Maybe they were young with the toys coming out. That wouldn't be too bad. He'd be the older brother then, and he'd be an older brother like Allan, not Collin. Like he'd been to William.

That had been just all right, all around. He could do that again, it was just that the hard thing of it was wondering what had *happened* to them. Hospital tended to mean injury, and for William it had been dealing with an injured little boy from right at the start of the injury to the point where they gave him a prosthetic, and Carson didn't suspect that there were many people in their early teens that were competent and calm about things like that. His father swore that he'd make a fantastic doctor one day.

As it was, he was doing a pretty decent job at stirring the soup.

Maybe they'd be girls. Maybe there would be someone as smart as he was because he was finding it difficult finding close friends. Every year he seemed to have less in common with his classmates, even skipping grades. He brothers and sisters never let him get full of himself and he got on with a lot of people but that wasn't the same as having a friend who understood more than football and TV.

It was all about looking on the brighter side of things. If they were closer to his own age, or even just smart younger kids, he could relate to them differently. Not just differently, but *better*.

"Carson, have you seen the legos?"

"Jamie had them," Carson replied taking a spoon to taste the soup and see if it needed seasoning. "He probably shoved it in the back room. I'm not sure what he was doing with them."

Actually he did. It was something for his photography portfolio and he had feeling that Jamie and Mairi probably weren't meant to be making soft porn models with Lego. He just hoped they had broken it down before they put it away.

Dinner was just potato soup and some bread, which Carson knew was his mother's idea of food that couldn't possibly offend any newcomer. But it needed a little more pepper, a little... something. Salt, maybe, just a bit. "Okay, I'll get it out tomorrow, then." He heard his mother coming down the stairs, and she was soon standing at the sink, washing her hands. "Your father'll be home any minute now. He said the boys are identical twins, but the social worker had placed the one at an overnight home and it was out at the other side of town."

"Twins? How old, mum?" Boys, that was good start, but twins? Dealing with twins in his family was tough enough. They had each other, they didn't need anyone else.

“Just a hair older than you. The detective says that they turned 16 back in April." She dried her hands briskly, and started to cut the bread. "They're those boys from the news the other night. That engineer they arrested."

"The kids in the basement thing?" Carson blinked a little. "Blo...wow, mum." He had to remember not to swear in front of his mum. "But, if they are older than me then why've you been getting out our old toys?"

He half-wanted her to give him the quick and easy explanation, but she was checking the butter bell. "Because they've spent years in the basement, and I need to gauge where they are developmentally. The one boy's just finished a year of college, and we don't think the other's seen daylight."

"So, one of them's smart?" he asked, automatically getting out the soup bowls. All members of the Beckett horde knew the drill. It was second nature now.

"I'm going to assume they're both smart. They've had deviant experiences, and I'm sure with time, the other boy will excel." For all she knew the other boy was a drooling mess, but she was always optimistic, and Carson wasn't going to saw his mother's optimism off at the knees. 

Not when he could hear the key in the front door.

"We're home!" his father called out and he straightened up a little to turn and look at his new foster brothers.

"Just in time, Carson has nearly finished the soup," his mother said. "Come on in."

They were bloody good looking -- blond hair, blue eyes, hair short at the sides and thicker at the top, wide mouths, dimpled chins. The one who was standing up straighter had a black eye, and the other one was holding tightly to the first one's upper arm. 

"Boys, this is my wife, Shona, and my youngest son, Carson. Carson and Shona, I want you to meet Rodney and Grant."

"Hello Rodney, hello Grant," Carson said politely and smiling. "Good to have you here." He was trying to work out which was which. "Um, which one of you is Rodney and which is Grant?"

The boy with the black eye put his hand up. "I'm Rodney, this is my brother Grant." Rodney seemed miserable, tense, and Grant seemed cowering and scared. They were off to a good start, then.

"All right. Rodney, Grant, do you want to go upstairs and see your rooms first or do you want dinner?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I can take them upstairs mum," Carson offered. Maybe the whole thing freaked them out. "Show them the bathrooms and stuff?"

"Thank you, Carson." His mother looked genuinely grateful, and he guessed she wanted to talk to his father. In private.

Rodney and Grant were moving closer together even while Rodney started walking towards Carson. "Lead the way."

"Okay then, this way," Carson said. "It's a bit of an oddly shaped house, and a wee bit twisty. Dad says it gives it character. Downstairs we've got the kitchen, obviously as we've just walked through it, the living room, the dining room. Dad's got a study now, though it used to be Allan's room, and we have a spare room as well now. I've kinda taken that over a wee bit. Upstairs there, mum and dad’s bedroom, the twin’s room, my room and what used to be Colin and Isobel’s rooms. Those are going to be your rooms, next door to each other. You'll like them hopefully. I'll show you the bathrooms." He led them up the stairs. "What happened to your face Rodney?"

"One of the boys at the house I stayed at last night thought I was fair game." He sounded not at all fair game to Carson, even though he was holding Grant's hand now. "We get our own rooms?"

"Mum said so." He glanced at him. "You have anything put on that at the house? Does it hurt?"

It looked like it did.

"Yeah. He got me right in the eye. Everything went blurry. About 6 am this morning. Apparently that's what I get for kicking him." Rodney pulled Grant in closer, while they started up the stairs.

"We've got some ointment and dad can take a look at it," he said and looked over at the other boy. "How are you feeling, Grant?"

"It, it's been a busy day, a busy busy day, lots of people, too many people, I just, I want to rest. Mr. Prime had more questions, I don't want, no more questions." 

Rodney squeezed Grant's hand, when they stopped in the hallway. "The doctor.. your dad, I guess, said the antibiotics he's on makes Grant feel sick. He's never been on antibiotics before."

"Aye well, they can do that," Carson admitted. "But that goes away and so do the infections. Don't worry Grant, I won't ask you questions if you don't want me to. But you can ask me questions if you want and I'll do my best to answer." 

He took a mental readjustment. Grant's mode of speaking reminded him a little of Andrew who had stayed a couple of weeks, who had had autism. His mum had taken pretty much everything out of the room then as well.

"Okay, the bathroom is here, with a shower and toilet and all. There another downstairs, if this is full. Mum took a lot of things out of the rooms because she didn't know what you liked so you know, you don't have to keep it like that. You can add things too when you know what you want."

"Sure." There was distrust there, and Carson could almost understand that. He still showed them the rooms, the one that was stripped down and the one that was a little *less* stripped down. "We were told that sometime the police will get Grant some of the things we had back in the house."

"Usually takes a little while," Carson replied with a nod. "I think mum was probably working on Grant having this room, and you having the other. What do you think?" Rodney was *really* good looking, and he wasn't exactly ready to deal with possible realignments of his sexuality right now.

"Sure." Rodney didn't seem to have any interest in the room that was going to be 'his' and instead he herded Grant into the room that was supposed to be Grant's. His mother really had dug up a lot of things, but all he could readily see in the room were crayons and paper and a pile of wooden blocks. "What do you think, Grant?"

Grant let go of Rodney's hand briefly and immediately spotted the items. "Paper! I can write my equations in different colors. I, I could do the non-linear ones in...in green. Green is a growing color. And I could do primes in blue. I like blue. I like primes. I have lots of different colors!"

He actually sounded animated and Carson began to revise the opinion of autism. Not the same as Andrew but with something that made him reserved.

It finally made Rodney smile with one side of his mouth. "Just remember to stay on the paper. Do you want to eat dinner downstairs with the, uh, Becketts?"

"There’s more food?" Grant looked up Rodney. "But I have had, half...half a burger and a chocolate milkshake and it was yesterday."

Carson blinked a bit. It was obvious that Grant wasn't expecting anything else. "We have mum's world famous potato soup and bread. It would be wonderful to have you join us."

"You're supposed to have at least two a day," Rodney told him, and reached his hand out for Grant. "C'mon, we can get more food and then come back here and work on equations. We'll see what I can remember from my calc III exam."

"You both like math?" Carson asked. "I struggle a wee bit with that."

Well comparatively. He was ahead but he knew his strength was not so much in pure math. His applied math where it related to chemistry and biology was actually very good. 

Grant took Rodney's hand again, giving a longing look to the paper as he did so.

"I promise, we've got all the time in the world for that after food." Rodney cut his eyes away from Grant and then back to Carson, finally, starting to lead the other boy out of the room. "Well, we can help you with your homework. When's your year end?"

"I have exams soon," Carson admitted. "I want to do well..." He shrugged a little. Calc III. College, yeah, that made Rodney more than just smart. "You're both geniuses aren't you?"

"Grant's just as smart as I am." Rodney lifted his chin, seemed to puff up with pride, like he was daring Carson to say otherwise. "So, yes."

"Okay," Carson nodded. He managed not to sigh, but it was bloody well tempting. Older *and* smarter. "That's cool. You'll have to talk to Dad about getting books and things."

He wasn't even going to go there about himself. It would end up becoming a pissing contest and he didn't need that right now. "Let's go get some soup."

"There isn't any citrus in it, is there?" Rodney was peering at him as they started back down the stairs.

"In potato soup? No. You don't like citrus?" he asked as they headed back downstairs. 

"I'm deathly allergic. And no, it's not a fun joke -- I stop breathing, throat swells up, everything." He waved his free hand in a flutter, still keeping Grant close to his side.

"He ate a lemon biscuit we had as a treat and, and then that's when Mom took him away from our room," Grant volunteered randomly.

"Well, there's none in the soup, I know that. I helped cook it, but you might need to tell mum and Dad about that."

"Okay." But at least they seemed willing to talk to Carson, maybe more than they were willing to talk to his parents, and that had happened before. His parents weren't above using that to their advantage in taking care of a foster.

"Carson, boys, where you are. I was just about to go looking for you," his mother declared when they entered the dining room.

"We got a little sidetracked when Grant found his room," Carson said.

"I like the crayons," Grant volunteered. "Rodney says I can use them after dinner. Is it dinner now?"

"Yes, sweetheart, it's dinner time. Here, why don't you two sit here." Side by side seats, across from where Carson sat, and his mother put big bowls of the soup down in front of their chairs. "Help yourselves to the bread, there's butter under the bell there."

Grant seemed fascinated by the bell and had great delight in exploring it, smiling as he peeked inside. Carson watched as his mum patiently showed Grant how to butter his bread, and Carson sneaked peeks at Rodney even as he waited his turn.

Rodney seemed patient with Grant, watching him and Carson's mum, more than anything else in the room, even as he fiddled with his spoon. 

"How's your eye, Rodney?" His father pitched his voice gently when he asked that. 

"Good. Hurts, but. I defended myself." He finally took a sip of the soup.

"I said we had some ointment Dad," Carson said as he had his soup. "And Rodney says he is allergic to citrus. Anaphylactic shock allergic. I didn't know if you knew that."

His father grimaced a little. "We're still trying to get a hold of your medical records, Rodney, so that's good to know. You might want to stay out of the fridge until I've had a chance to go through and clean it out."

"I'm not, I won't..." Rodney slipped his spoon into the soup again. "Wouldn't go into your fridge, but uh, thanks."

"Mom says we can go in the fridge whenever we want as long as we don't drink from the milk carton," Carson said with a faint smile.

"It's more a case of fighting a losing battle against my family," his mum said smiling. "I'd like to know what you like to eat as well at some point. Potato soup is good for unsettled stomachs but not exactly something you would want to live off of."

"Grant likes chocolate," Rodney offered. The butter bell was finally ceded, and Rodney quickly buttered a little bread before passing it to Carson. "I'll eat anything. We just... aren't picky."

"Well, we'll try a few Beckett family favorites out on you both and see what you prefer," Carson's mother answered. "Are there any more allergies that we should know about? Lachlan dear, we're going to need an epipen for Rodney, I think I still have one in the medicine cabinet but it might not be in date."

"No, nothing else that I know about. Grant doesn't have any we've found yet." Rodney ducked his head down, and seemed to be going to town on the soup, eating a little too fast. 

"Right, well, we'll get you an epipen just in case. Always good to have those for emergencies," his father noted.

Carson guessed if he'd been locked in a cellar and abused and starved then he'd be a bit weird about food as well.

"Well, tonight you can just get comfortable and settle in a bit," his mum said. "I'm sure it's a bit overwhelming at the moment. If you want us for anything, just call us at any time, we won't mind."

Carson just knew from the glance Rodney gave him that they wouldn’t go to his parents first.

"You can take books from the study if you want," his dad said. "And Carson has the second TV in the house in the room he's taken over. I'm designating that the teenagers' den so we don't have to tear your mother away from her soaps."

"You have a TV?" Grant looked up from the piece of bread that he was clutching up near his mouth like some ravenous squirrel.

"It was Collin's. It's pretty old, but." Carson shrugged. He liked to sit in there and do his studying and watch TV and videos. "I've got some videos. We have a VCR player too. "

"Oh, oh, I want to watch videos." Grant shifted in the seat, talking while he stuffed the last of his piece of bread into his mouth. "I, I, Rodney, can we?"

Rodney gave Carson's parents a glance. "If they say we can."

"Sure you can," his mum said. "We only have a few basic rules here. Firstly, bed by 11 at the outside unless there is a reason that you've discussed with us. No one goes to bed on an argument here either, it gets talked out. If you want something you ask first and if you need to do something or are feeling upset, you talk to one of us first to see if we can help. The rest is all negotiable. Your free time is yours to do what you want with."

Study, revise for exams. Carson chewed on his lip. He could study with the noise in the background. "What sort've films do you like?"

"I, I don't know. We watched CBC, in the hospital, and there was an owl." Grant slipped the spoon into the bowl, and awkwardly took a mouthful. "And a mouse, and the, the owl was on a skateboard, and I liked it."

Rodney cleared his throat. "It's new to him," he said in that tone that implied that test patterns would be fascinating for Grant.

"Well he'll probably like some of the films I've got then, and won't tell me that I have rubbish taste," Carson said. "We'll pick something out after this. Maybe make snacks to take with us?" He pitched that question at his mum hopefully. He knew about the little and often eating routine for the malnourished kids who came in.

His mother was nodding at him, smiling in a way that Carson was going to take as praise. 

"You said you, uh..." Rodney waved his spoon a little. "You're studying for finals. I can help."

"I can do that and watch at the same time," Carson said. "Dad says being able to tune out a distraction is a valuable skill."

"A wee bit of time out of the books won't harm, lovey," his mum said. "I told you that."

Yes, she *said* that, but he also knew that he was expected to be just as much of a success as the whole rest of his family, and there wasn't any room for him to fail. Carson simply knew and understood that.

Rodney was quiet again, and Grant was humming into his soup.

"So, Rodney, Grant do you have much in the way of clothes or things you need? We can go shopping tomorrow, or I can go shopping on your behalf if you don't feel like it, to get some new things for you?" his mum asked.

They had some odd clothes around the place but Rodney was pretty tall. Tall enough to maybe just about fit in his stuff, or even some of Jamie's things as Jamie had been a bit of a beanpole. But then Jamie had paint and stuff over most of the things he'd left behind so he could see an impromptu wardrobe raid coming on so they would have something to be going on with.

"I..." Rodney shifted. "I have things in my dorm room. Back in the states. I didn't think I was going to be staying in Canada."

"Well, we'll find something here. You look just a little taller than Carson here so I'm sure we can find something good enough to get out and about in long enough to buy you things for yourself," his dad put in and he finished off his soup. "I know he's got a pair of jeans that are a little tall for him, haven't you, Carson?"

He nodded. "They'd probably fit you like a glove," he said. "Or Grant."

"Grant needs them more." Rodney seemed finished with the soup with half a bowl left. "Look, I have my passport and my papers and my car, still. Can I drive back to Northwestern and get my stuff before the university does away with it, or someone breaks in and steals my textbooks?"

"I'll go with you tomorrow," his dad said and Carson was a little disappointed. His Dad had promised to go over a few things with him on his day off. The only way he was going to get that was if he tagged along and he had a feeling Grant wouldn't want to be left alone right now.

Rodney still looked reluctant. "It's only a couple of hours drive, and the Vega can't have leaked that much oil since I drove up here."

"Rodney lad, you need one of us with you at the moment for your own safety okay?" his dad replied. "Right now, until we have the all clear from the police, we need to make sure that you're not in a position where you can be found by your mother or stepfather or any other relatives."

"Right." There was a scheming look in his eyes, and god knew what the other boy was thinking. Carson wasn't sure if he could even guess at it. "Okay."

He knew he was thinking something though so he'd try and talk to him when they were watching the movie or something. Speaking of which, the bowls were empty so he automatically got up and started clearing them away to the sink.

"Thank you, Carson," his father said over his shoulder to him. He could get some snacks -- crackers, maybe some cheese and fruit -- and stuff it on a plate to take upstairs with them.

He smiled a little and he'd let them choose the video while he sorted out the snacks. "You want to go pick a movie now?" he asked Rodney and Grant.

"Sure. One of the rooms upstairs, right?" Rodney prompted, starting to stand up.

"Yeah, next to the rooms I showed you. Do you wanna go on up? I'll grab a few things," Carson promised,

"C'mon, Grant." Rodney was reaching for Grant's hand, and stopped briefly to thank Carson's mother for the soup, and then the twins were gone.

 

It wasn't how he'd expected to do his Getting My Stuff Back routine, but making night-time drives was getting to be a habit. Rodney was glad that he knew the road, and that his car was actually complying with him.

"My parents are going to bloody kill me," Carson said from the passenger seat. "Seriously Rodney, why couldn't you wait until morning?"

"Because I don't want to have to explain to anyone what's going on." Never mind that some of them knew, or maybe knew. Rodney didn't know, wasn't sure, and he didn't want to find out if they knew or didn't know what had happened to him. His teachers supposedly had been told by the police.

"It wasn't your fault anything happened," Carson replied. "You did more than most people would've done. Went back for your brother."

"He's my brother." Rodney shrugged his shoulders, eyes on the road, dropping every once in a while to make sure the car was still keeping up to speed. "He would have done the same for me."

"Yeah well," Carson yawned. "But Dad would've gone in for you if you didn't want to see anyone. You sure this car is safe?"

"Safe enough. My step dad gave it to me for my 16th." And then he'd apparently turned right around and driven back to Canada in it and set everything off. 

"Well that was nice of him," the other teenager said. "I mean...a car. I don't think I'll be getting a car for my 16th."

"It's a junker. And 14 years old." Rodney shifted his fingers on the steering wheel. "I think he didn't want to be bothered with ever having to be involved with getting me to and from school."

"You hate them don't you?" Carson asked after a pause. "The both of them?"

"Yes." There was no reason to lie, or try to soften it, because while his step-father hadn't *done* anything to him, physically, his ignorance had been unbelievable, and there'd been so many times where Rodney had done things in the hope of being *noticed*, in the hope of having everything that was wrong would just be noticed, acknowledged.

"Not going to try and kill them are you?" Carson asked. "We had one foster who...tried that. Mum was really upset when they took him away."

"Death would be too easy. I want her to live in a small cement room for the rest of her life." And prison was just like that, with the added effect of bars on the door. "And Grant needs me. I wouldn't do that to him."

"You're very close," Carson said softly. "That's good. You think you're going to stay with us?"

"I don't know. Do Grant and I get a choice in the matter, or...? It's not like we're looking to be adopted. I want to get Grant up to speed. And then we can go to university." And live their lives, and that was all Rodney really wanted to do. He wanted to live his life. Their lives. Safe and together. "Do the kids placed with your family move often?"

"Usually when they get adopted," Carson shrugged. "Otherwise most stay. Mum gets the most amazing amount of cards and letters, even now, from kids who've been with us. You get a say, I guess, though you'd be stupid to not stay. You won't find a better parents than my mum and dad."

"Even if they aren't, I'll take the devil I know. I spent one night in that other place, and I don't want to end up somewhere like that again." Sleeping on the floor on a couple of blankets had been home-like in its familiarity, but the boy who'd punched him in the face had tried pulling his boxers down, and he'd kneed the bastard and then *he'd* had the nerve to act like Rodney had attacked him and he'd punched Rodney in self defense. Carson didn't seem likely to do that.

In fact he wasn't exactly sure what to make of the younger teenager. Grant was wearing his clothes, they'd been given permission to use all of his things. He'd studied and found time to answer Grant's questions about the movies and he'd dragged himself out of bed to come with him even though he knew it would get him in trouble because he was worried about him going alone.

"So, I uh. Think so. Grant's not used to change. One change is enough. And he has his own room. And you're willing to cross the border with me in the middle of the night, when you don't actually know me from a hole in the wall." He gestured with his chin to the glove compartment. "Can you pull my passport out, we're coming up to the crossing here."

Carson fished it out and handed it over even as they pulled to a halt. "Good, I'm glad you're staying," he said, even as he had to show his passport.

Rodney passed through the routine questions with ease -- purpose, length of stay, blah blah -- and the popping of his trunk, the man peeking around in his 'back seat' with a flashlight in hand. He wasn't going for nefarious purposes and he wasn't nervous, so it went smoothly enough. "Do you parents have a lot of fosters come through?"

"We've had a fair few," Carson replied. "My brothers and sisters are a fair bit older than I am and once they started leaving home, well.." He shrugged a little. "Some we've had for a few days, or a weeks before they are placed, there's been a few who were around for years."

“Yeah, well. We're 16 and uh... Not exactly cuddly." And while Grant was wide-eyed and hopeful, Rodney wasn't. Wide-eyed, at least. "What grade are you in right now?"

"Grade 10, thereabouts," Carson said. "I'm a wee bit ahead." He shrugged. "Not like you being at college already. "

"I'm a genius." Rodney glanced in his rearview, pleased that really, there was hardly anything that could count as traffic. Best part about driving so early. "Math, physics, any of the hard sciences. Grant is, too. What do you want to be when you go to college?"

"I'm going to be a doctor, maybe do medical research," Carson said with complete certainty. "Dad is one of the top specialists for trauma after care in the country... but I think I'd like to try and find cures for things."

"Huh." It was more scientific than trauma after care, Rodney guessed. Sounded like it was. Less 'try B if A fails to work' and more actually scientific method. "You'll probably be good at it."

Carson snorted. "You don't even really know me Rodney. I might be crap. I probably will be."

It got him to laugh. "Yeah, well. You're taking me at face value that I'm not going to dump you in a ditch in the states, and I'll assume that you're smart."

"Oh I don't think you would do that," Carson said with apparent blind faith, right up to the point where he smirked and said. "I've had six older brothers and sister with a tendency to wrestle to decide arguments. I think I could take you."

"Probably. Grant's just into hugging." Rodney checked his speed again, and started to feel relaxed and calm about his driving. He knew the around-town of school.

“Aye, well, I think mum is starting off a little as if he has autism or aspergers," Carson said. "But I don't think he has. It's something else."

This from a fifteen year old, said with the authority of someone with experience.

It got another snort out of Rodney, and he slowed down for the stoplight, blinker the loudest sound in the car. The radio had died about an hour ago. "He's not. He's just like me. Except I got out."

"Stuff still happened to you," Carson pointed out. "They'll want you to talk about it. They always do."

Stuff happened. Rodney lifted his chin, and concentrated on the driving. "Good for them. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it."

"Thought as much," Carson said and looked out of the window. He appeared to make a decision. "Look, I'm not going to make you talk, not going to try. But if you want to talk about stuff at some point, I'm pretty good at listening. Call it an open offer. Otherwise you won't hear any more about it."

He drove for a while, just concentrating on where he was going, checking the highway signs. "The police kept asking me to just give a quick summary of what had happened. And it's just... not possible."

"Kinda difficult," Carson agreed. "I wouldn't know where to start. That's like trying to ...explain what math is in a short summary."

"You can try, but you're going to miss a lot." Rodney wanted to miss all of it, but he wasn't sure how he could convey to any of the 'adults' who were pursuing him for answers what had been so wrong with his life until then. 

"My advice? Pick a couple of examples of key points and stick to it. Earliest memory. Something that gives an example of your's and Grant's relationship, something about your mum, something about your dad," Carson said.

A, B, C, nice and cut and dry, Rodney supposed. "Grant’s my twin. I hated being away from him. We... were we, us, for years. One entity, two bodies."

"Aye, Jamie and Mairi are like that. I guess it's more so with identical twins," Carson commented. "Mum always said they cried, even as babies, if the other was out of sight. They...don't need anyone else except each other." He shrugged a little. "Although Isobel is closest to them."

"Close in age?" It left him wondering where Jeannie was, that she was hopefully safe, too. She certainly wasn't driving to Northwest to pack up his dorm room. "I, we have a half sister. Have you heard anything about how she is?"

"Age and ...everything," Carson glanced at him. "Rodney, I didn't even know your names, ages, or even if you were male or female until you walked in the door. Sorry, I don't know anything about your sister."

"Worth a shot. No-one seems interested in keeping us in the loop." Rodney shrugged, making a lane change, slowing down a little.

"If I find out anything I'll tell you," Carson promised. "People tend not notice when I'm hanging around."

"Thanks." Rodney let silence fall for a while, still concentrating on the road, taking turns, guiding them towards the university now, coasting into the parking lot for the dorm. "C'mon, I'll just throw everything I can into the back."

Rodney could see how that happened, because Carson just followed his lead, didn't talk back as they packed up. Mind you it was in the early hours of the morning so maybe he wasn't talkative at night. It took a ridiculously short period of time to pack up his belongings and they didn't even have to make more than one trip to the car.

He'd stuffed his books into his book bag, his calculator, pens, notebooks, and the seams were bulging, but the rest of his stuff had fit in the footlocker, and a box he'd already had half-packed, and that was what. He didn't need to take the bedding, or towels. They weren't important.

"I appreciate you doing this," Rodney murmured once they were back in the car. He'd left a note on his door for the RA, just so they knew that he'd come back for his own stuff. Not that they probably gave a fuck.

"It's okay," Carson said. "Dad's going to kill me though." He sounded a little worried about that. "I probably should’ve told him.”

"Just blame me." It sounded logical enough to Rodney. "I mean it, just blame me for it. I'm the one who wanted to sneak out to pick up my stuff. I appreciate your father's offer to drive with me down here, but... I didn't want to leave Grant alone."

"Believe me, you don't get to do that in our house," Carson said wryly. "You have to take responsibility for your own actions."

"Then you followed me to make sure I was all right, and forgot to tell your father. Look, I'm the master of badly thought out plans here. You keep poking holes in them and I'll just keep coming up with new ones." Just as long as he hadn't done anything that would get him and Grant moved to another house.

"Uh... I left a note?" Carson said sheepishly. "Just a brief one!"

"Where did you leave it?" There was on the kitchen table, or on someone's head, and they were vastly different places to stick notes.

"In the kitchen. I didn't have time to scribble much," Carson said. "Otherwise mum would kill me as well."

"So much for getting away with it and hoping that I could just explain that my stuff magically appeared in the night," Rodney sighed. It wasn't that bad. Fear of being caught out didn't rate very high for him, but maybe it did for Carson. "Grant'll be happy. I took some of his things with me to college, and they're in the footlocker. I didn't want mother destroying them while I was gone."

"Look, trust me, in terms of damage control, a note goes a long way," Carson said. "I'm glad we got things for Grant."

"He'll be happy." There was Kitty, the stuffed toy that they'd had when they were tiny, that Grant had given him as a good luck talisman when he'd gone to school. And there were other things, bits of treasure that didn't seem like much except... they were.

"Good." Carson nodded a little. "Doesn't feel right that you have nothing."

"There's stuff at the house, but..." There were bad memories associated with it. Coming home over the Christmas holiday had been bad enough -- nothing said fun holiday times like orange zest in the eggnog, or gifts that his mother made him 'earn' whether he wanted to or not. "I don't want it."

Carson seemed to understand that. "You can get new things. Look, sometimes people get a bit weird about foster carers. Mum and Dad are really trying to help you guys. And they'll do everything they can. We've had some kids who thought they were trying to trick them or something."

"I don't know what to think yet. Your father was nice to Grant in the hospital. But Grant and I have fended for ourselves for a long time. Maybe we're doing it wrong. I don't know." Grant was his responsibility, before everything else, and he already had the beginnings of a new plan unfolding in his mind.

"No one is going to take Grant away from you," Carson said. "But, look the point is, you've got us to go to bat for you now, okay?"

"Okay." He didn't really believe him, but Carson seemed so adamant. "Hey, if you want to go to sleep for a while, I can wake you up when we get there."

"I might just do that," Carson said sounding grateful for that at least. "If you don't mind."

"Don't mind it at all. I don't need that much sleep, and we'll be there in a couple of hours." Plenty of time. Slip back into Carson's house, and unpack in the morning. It was only a little after 2am, less time than he'd thought it would take.

 

He had been tired because there were pills that tasted funny and made him tired and feeling sick, but the new bed was soft and nice and there was something fuzzy to wrap into and he was comfortable and warm like it was a special time. Grant woke up and counted fifty breaths before he opened his eyes. Nothing happened in fifty breaths so he opened his eyes knowing today would be a good day.

And immediately it was. There was the tiny stuffed cat toy that was his most precious thing in the world, and he had given to Rodney when he went away because he couldn't give him himself.

"Kitty! Kittykittykitty!"

Kitty smelled like warm detergent, clean and body-heat smell, like Rodney usually smelled, and Grant was out of bed, right foot first because Right was good, and he had Kitty in his hands, and he was warm and the air was comfortable and clean. 

But the room was not what he was used to, and he needed to find Rodney, even if he had Rodney-smell.

It was difficult because it was light, and he was used to knowing his space in the dark and there were things as he looked around that caught at his attention. He remembered where Rodney should be, Rodney should be three steps to the right of this doorway and in another door.

He didn't knock, because this was Rodney and it would be like knocking to let himself into a room which might be funny come to think of it and Rodney was there.

He automatically squirmed into his brother’s bed, feeling happy as Kitty was squished between them both and lying there beaming.

It had to be the best day ever. He had Kitty and Rodney and while it wasn't dark, while that had changed, it was maybe a good change. They had beds, which were funny and squeaked in weird places and times, giving under his knees in a way that made Grant want to peel it open to see what was inside. It was maybe little mice stretched up on tippy toes, pushing up where Grant pushed down, and that would've explained the squeaks. Grant decided to try to be lighter for the mice's sake.

Rodney shifted, twisted, squirmed and then hugged him.

"Mmph, hi."

"Kitty came home!" Grant hugged him back. "And, and...it was warm and sleepy."

"Mmmhmm, it still is." Rodney's arms were loose, and his fingers splayed out, and he turned to press his face against Grant's shoulder. "So good to have you back."

"Yes." Having Rodney there made everyday a good day. Before he'd thought there could be bad days with him, but after he was taken away he realized Rodney as an addition to a day was a simple If Then principle. If Rodney Then Good.

If not Rodney, then bad. He loved his brother, and Rodney loved him, and Grant was happy. "Time 's it?" 

"7.53 am," Grant said, not even having to look. There was an internal clock in his head that ticked away. 

It was always right, except when they shifted hours, and that wasn't his fault, that was them playing with time, and it was wrong. 

"We should get up," Rodney sighed. "Find food." 

"More food? We had soup and chips yesterday. I like chips. They were crunchy. There was bread." Grant felt he was making good points. 

"Yeah, more food. We're supposed to eat more than we've had," Rodney squirmed, sighing when he did that. "I missed you." 

"Oh." Grant frowned a little. "I like food. Food is good. What food will there be?" Rodney's hair was long at the back. He stroked at it thoughtfully. 

"Don't know. We can go find out." Rodney shifted a little, sat up to peer at grant. "I think we're safe here." 

"Safe?" He wasn't sure what that was exactly. He knew the definition but that wasn't the same as understanding it. "Why are we safe?" 

"Mom can't get us here." Oh, that was a big revelation. If Rodney was right... 

"Oh. Oh.." Grant sat up. "She can't find me? I'm, I'm hidden. Hidden numbers and inverted equations all folded away?" 

"Yeah," Rodney sat up, too, all big smiles just for Grant. "Naked to the visible eye and the closed mind."

"Best day!" Grant announced. He didn't want to be found by mom. That was bad, but it felt good, just like the things she said were good felt bad. Inverted symmetry. Logic he could understand. He got up then because he could.

Rodney pressed his face into the pillow with a sigh, and stood up, too. "You slept good last night, Grant?" He half-made the bed behind him, setting Kitty on top of the pillow.

"Yes." Grant nodded. It felt good to sleep well. "You are tired."

"Yeah. Carson and I went out and got my stuff last night. Brought back some books and clothes and Kitty here." Rodney was smiling when he stood in front of Grant, and that was nice.

Grant processed this fact. Carson helped Rodney get Kitty. "Carson is nice," he decided. "Isn't he?"

"Yeah. I think he's probably a good guy." Rodney rubbed at his own face and then reached a hand out to rub a thumb over Grant's cheekbone. "Come on. I think it's time for your antibiotics, too."

"Antibiotics are not so nice," Grant felt he should point out. "I... I don't like them much." He liked Rodney touching him.

"They'll make your side not-hurt and not-red," Rodney retaliated, and it was very logical if Rodney was working from some kind of empirical data. "And hopefully you won't need it again for a while. So, breakfast?" Rodney slid his hand down to Grant's wrist, then clasped his hand.

He nodded gripping his brother’s hand as a familiar lifeline as they headed downstairs. There were voices downstairs and not all of them sounded happy. He stopped, not wanting to go forward on a good day.

"Grant?" Rodney gave a small tug with his hand, waiting for him six steps down from the bottom, which was two steps ahead of Grant's eight steps down, which was more than a good number for turning back on.

"Not going there. They, they..." he gestured to his ear vaguely to tell Rodney he didn't like the noise of discontent. "I'll stay here."

"Are you sure? Everything's okay," Rodney told him, but, well, maybe. Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't and maybe he wanted to stay upstairs in his room for a while and just enjoy things the way they were.

"Doesn't sound okay," he said and tried to sit on the step. "Is it okay?"

Rodney let go of his fingers, and took another step. "It's okay. I can go check, if you want to stay here?"

"Y, Yes." He nodded vigorously. He didn't like people being upset or hurt. He didn't like shouting.

"Okay. Stay here and I'll go check it out." That was what Rodney did, he went ahead, he went upstairs, except upstairs was downstairs now, and negotiated and came back with food and things and that was, that was normal. That was like before Rodney had gone to college, and Grant had missed him so much. 

Rodney turned and stepped off of the stairwell and then he was gone.

He tucked his feet up and tried to balance on the edge of the stair, but it was a bit thin. He tucked his head in and listened for Rodney.

He could just hear the thread of his voice somewhere and he closed his eyes to follow it further.

Other voices, not Rodney, not Rodney, that was Rodney. It was like sifting with his ears.

"Don't be angry at him. I was going, one way or another. I didn't want to leave Grant here alone today."

"Grant wouldn't've been alone, Rodney," the nice doctor voice said. "Shona would've been with him. And regardless, Carson knows better."

"I didna want Rodney to go alone and if I'd gone to wake you, he would've left without me," Carson's voice said. "I left a note! I thought you didn't want him to be alone either."

"I've lived on my own for the last year, *in* another country. I don't know why *now* I need to be not-alone so very very much. It's not like our lives magically got more fucked up once the television got a hold of it, and *now* we suddenly need protecting and supervision."

Grant shivered a bit. Rodney's loud voice.

"That's exactly why you need protecting now," Shona said. 

"Look mum, I've got to go soon, anyway," Carson's voice said . "I've got school. You can chew me out tonight."

"We *will* finish discussing this later," the nice doctor voice said, a little more firmly, not as loud as Rodney's loud voice.

He could hear, quietly, Rodney muttering, "That makes no sense at all," and then he was there, at the bottom of the stairs. "Grant? Come down, please. It's okay."

"Is it okay really?" He asked peering up at him. "Safe?"

"Yeah. It's safe." Rodney held a hand up to him. "I promise."

Rodney didn't lie to him. He always told the truth. He got up and moved towards him. "Breakfast."

Rodney exhaled, a quiet sigh, and then they were in the hallway, starting towards the kitchen. And Carson was coming out. 

"Carson, I'm sorry," Rodney said, and reached out with his other hand to briefly touch Carson.

The other teenager smiled a little. "Don't worry about me Rodney, this is nothing compared to the trouble Collin got into when he tried to drive dad's car. I've got to go to school though. You and Grant have a good day. "

"You, too. Thanks." Rodney let his hand drop, and watched Carson let himself out of the house, and out, Grant decided, wasn't somewhere that he wanted to go again. Things were unpredictable out there and there was enough change just them to deal with, when upstairs was downstairs and downstairs was upstairs.

He ducked his head as he went into the kitchen.

"Morning, Grant," Shona said. "I'm glad you're joining us."

"He said he slept well last night. What time should he be having his antibiotics?" Rodney moved into the room, scanning the place for Grant, and Grant liked that. They processed things differently, and if they both paid attention, they saw things no one else would.

"He should eat something first," Lachlan said . "What would you like Grant?"

"What is there? What do people eat in the morning?" Grant asked.

"Cereal. Oatmeal. Fruit, uh, bacon, muffins, juice, pancakes..." Rodney rattled that off for him, but Grant wasn't sure what was what, except he could *smell* bacon, and that was nice. "Anything."

"Why don't you try a few things Grant?" Shona suggested. "A wee bit of cereal? A pancake? Oatmeal? See what you like?"

Too many choices, and how did anyone ever decide? How was he supposed to know if he liked one type better than the other? 

"Is there anything I can do to help," Rodney offered hovering. "Have a seat," Shona gestured. She glanced at Grant. "Let's try one at a time. A spoonful of cereal first, yes?" She put some in a bowl and pushed it over towards him and Grant picked a piece out and studied it closely.

It was round, and slightly irregular with a hole in the middle. Like wheels, only there was no way to secure a spoke in them. Rodney sat down beside him, watching him intently, not saying anything. "Torus." He said. "Edible torus." He hesitantly ate it, surprised when it crunched. It tasted nice and it made a fun noise and he grinned at Rodney and ate another.

"You usually eat them with milk..." Shona prompted.

"They're still crunchy, in milk," Rodney told him quietly. "But they sog up after a while, but even then they taste pretty good."

That sounded like fun. He liked milk and he liked the crunchy torus things so therefore logic would dictate he would like the both together. He poured a little and took a spoon from Rodney and tried it. 

And beamed. "'s good."

Rodney sat back, smiling triumphantly. "Grant got a lot of toast, crackers, bananas, whatever I could sneak down, so..."

"Well, we'll see if we can expand that a little," Shona said. "How about a pancake?"

Pancakes, which were pleasingly disc-like, were even better especially with syrup. In fact, he squirted a bit of the syrup on the remaining cereal, he liked it so much.

Rodney didn't say anything, and took a pancake and a little bacon himself, mostly watching Grant more than his own food, and Grant was used to that close attention from Rodney.

He was also used to being alone for days on end, not seeing or speaking to anyone. Oatmeal was again better with syrup, but not his favorite. He got to have a little bacon and a nice crunchy piece of hot toast. His toast had always been cold before.

Somewhere in there, the nice Doctor said he was ducking into the office for a bit to help out, and that he'd be back before Carson was home, which meant it was just going to be them and Shona in the house, and Grant didn't know what they were going to do. But, having food was nice.

"So, Rodney, Grant what would you like to do today?" Shona asked. "We can do anything you want?"

Anything at all was a pretty wide range. Rodney was toying with a slice of pancake that looked like a rounded out isosceles triangle, which really made him think of the Sierpinski triangle. "I, uh. Don't know. Grant?"

"I, I..." Grant was looking around. On good days Rodney showed him Math and things. "Can we look at your college books? I...please?"

"Yeah. Hey, and we can help Carson with his homework later," Rodney added, and then he was touching Grant's shoulder, but not his side because his side hurt. "You can help me unpack, too. I brought home more for you than just Kitty."

"You can rearrange things in your rooms and pick out a few things," Shona said. "If you want to take a look around the garden... the yard, go ahead."

"Okay." Grant wasn't sure if they would, but Rodney nudged his leg under the table, and offered him the last of his own pancakes. "Today, Grant, is going to be a good day."

As far as Grant as concerned as he ate the last bit of pancake, it already was.

 

By the time he trudged back up the drive and let himself in, Carson was shattered. He also felt a little sorry for himself which he was ignoring because he recognized it for what it was - mild jealousy.

He had a headache, he was stiff from sleeping in the car, and today had been boring. He could've stayed working at home.

He could have stayed at home and just studied for himself, but soon he'd be home all summer to relax, and take part in his mother's idea of therapy for foster children. Play, and relax, and go out with his friends from school. Summer was always so relaxing, and so close he could taste it from the stress. He just needed to go home and work on problems and drill it into his head before the test.

It'd be a blessing if his parents didn’t chew him out again, or if Rodney and Grant didn't have some crisis to be handled instead of him being left to do homework.

He grabbed a drink when he got in, and disappeared upstairs without stopping, wanting to avoid the day of judgment as long as possible.

He'd been doing a relatively good thing, or so he thought, but he might as well have told Rodney no and let Rodney and his father drive down to the states and back instead of trying to be helpful. It'd gotten him just as far as if he'd let things go according to his parents' plan.

It was nice, though. At least he had peace and quiet.

He reached his room and threw down his bag, and flopped on his bed. This was it, the start of the familiar cycle. He didn't begrudge the fosters anything except...just every now and then he'd like his parents to remember him a wee bit more.

Just a little. Sure he was well and mature, and didn't need help, but he needed attention just as much as they did. It had been different with his brothers and sisters, less of an us versus them then. And he'd still been a bit of the baby. Usually he had a clearer sort of relationship with the fosters, too -- they were younger, so he could be guiding older brother. But these two were older.

And smarter, and...just everything. But that warred with the fact that he liked Rodney and Grant and that made things more difficult.

He wanted to do well in his exams, but they just expected that as if it came easily to him without work. He worked, he worked bloody hard and... it was the norm. He was expected to do that kind of work, and Carson wasn’t sure what to think of that kind of pressure. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. He was going to keep going, though, and maybe after the summer holiday he'd feel less waffly.

And very faintly, he could hear voices through the wall that separated his room from Rodney's.

He ignored it for a bit, then sighed and got up again, going next door to see what Grant and Rodney were up to. Or had been up to.

He didn't really expect to find the strange Lego sculptures that the two of them were building, and Grant's giggling. 

"No, no, hold on -- I swear, this is *supposed* to be a Scotty," Rodney insisted, back to the door.

"A Scottie dog, or a Beckett Scottie?" Carson asked pushing the door fully open as it had been ajar. "Hey."

Rodney twisted, and good lord, the thing was blue with random red bricks stuck in there as proof that they were low on colors, and it didn't look much like a dog. A table with a tail and a head, maybe. "Hey. Was school good?"

"Pretty boring actually. Could've learned more here," Carson admitted. "You found the Lego then huh?"

"Your mum did, and I uh, disassembled it." He lifted his eyebrows at Carson. "And we took showers. It's been a laid back day. You said you had finals to study for?"

"Aye, next week," Carson admitted smiling a little as Grant gave him a grin and an abrupt wave before continuing with Lego building. "I could use a laid back day."

"This is... laid back," Rodney agreed, scooting over a little, clearing space for Carson while moving closer to Grant. "This looks nothing like a dog, does it?"

"I wouldn't work on it as an anatomically correct model," Carson said sitting down with them. " Are you working from a picture?"

"No, just..." Rodney gestured to his own temple. Memory, right, that could've been part of the problem. "Grant's been having better luck."

"I could do a sketch of one...I mean, I'm not Mairi, she's a real artist, but I can manage a likeness." He hadn't sketched much for some time.

"Could you? I might be able to get the legs more... leg-like." He gave Grant a sideways smile.

"I just need to borrow a piece of paper and a crayon or pen," Carson said taking one and starting a basic sketch. He had a messy sort of style, sketchy rather than clean lines, but it came together in a way. The twins were the creative ones of the Beckett clan really, able to draw, sculpt and play. Isobel had gotten on with them better because she was a consummate singer and performer, always center stage, always having a drama. All of his siblings had a 'thing', a niche, a talent and though he was a fair artist, a talented amateur, he knew there was better.

He wasn't really sure what his thing was.

It wasn't Rodney who was watching him half as intently as Grant was, and it left Carson half aware that the 'odder' of the two of them was watching his hand motions fiercely, eyes tracking every movement like he hoped to copy it. "Huh. You're pretty good."

"Not really," Carson said. "Mairi and Jamie are really good. A lot of the pictures in the house are theirs. Most of the family is really good at something."

It was taking shape, a quick and dirty Scottie dog.

"When my professor wanted some graphs to go with a paper I submitted, I nearly had a breakdown because I'm really not an artist. You want an engineering drawing, I can -- it's straight lines. It's precise. Anything else is..."

"Sketchy?" Carson said displaying the picture. "Will that do as a model?"

Rodney made a vague gesture with one finger, drawing the lines Carson was showing him in the air. "Oh, huh. Forgot their legs did that -- yes, that should help. Thanks."

"Time to take the blocks apart," Grant told him, leaning into Rodney.

"Why are we building a dog?" Carson asked, noticing their closeness. Understandable really. "Do you like dogs?"

"Dogs, cats, mice..." Rodney shrugged a little, and added, "Squirrels. Animals. Soft fur, unconditional love in exchange for attention, food and care. Sometime, we'll get pets. As a long-term goal sort of thing." Rodney carefully split the Lego table that he'd meant to be a dog, and handed Grant half to start disassembling.

Carson noted that. Depending on how long they were going to stay, his mum didn't object to pets. "I like animals," he said. "Lots."

A cat might be good because they were less dependent.

Litter to clean, sure, but they didn't need to be walked. "I, I had mice, sometimes," Grant volunteered. "Rodney didn't like them, but they were, they were nice to me, with soft little ears. Soft." He sighed and added, "That's what's wrong with the dog."

"Legos aren't particularly soft, no. Also, I forgot the *knees*. Your pyramid looks good." 

Cuddly toys. Soft cuddly toys, that was something else for Grant. "You have to imagine softness," he said. "Mm."

He helped with the legos.

It was quiet work. Sometimes, on the drive, Rodney had talked and talked, and sometimes he didn't, shuttered inward. They were both quiet while they disassembled the dog, and Rodney started to build a more oval sort of body shape that had 4 bits that stuck out low at the sides for building legs off of. Much better. 

Then he heard his mother call up the stairs for him.

"Carson! Can you come downstairs?" His mum had obviously noticed his stuff.

"Coming," he called. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Okay. We might have something more like a dog going by then." Rodney glanced up at him and waved while he got to his feet.

Time for that chewing out, then.

He smiled and headed downstairs to the kitchen, looking for his mother. "I'm here."

"Good. Were you upstairs with the boys?" Where he was expected to be, sure. His father was in the living room, and that was a conversation he hoped to dodge, too.

"I went up to see them yeah," he said. "They're playing with Lego."

"Still? Well, that's good." She was bustling about, and it looked like they were having pasta. Simple foods, but simple was pretty good in Carson's experience. "It's a little like having the twins back in the house again. How do they seem?"

"They're doing okay," Carson said with a shrug. "Everything is new to Grant so I guess they are working on that."

She was stirring up the sauce, glancing into the living room. "Your father and I have decided that grounding you for what you did last night might be a bit over the top. Still, I never thought you'd go and leave the country without telling us."

"I did leave a note," Carson said a bit feebly. "Rodney... wasn't going to take no for an answer and I knew you didn't want him going alone." He paused a moment, remembering his father's number one rule. "Okay, *I* didn't want him going alone."

"Was he all right? On the trip. I was worried about you just as much for your own safety, Carson," she told him, adding a little pepper and a dash of salt to the water that was trying to boil. "And you had to have been tired today at school.

"He was fine. We talked some. Well, quite a bit actually," Carson said. "And I'm a wee bit tired, yes."

"Do you have homework or studying to do?" His mother looked at him, and then she *looked* at him, and leaned over to pull out one of the chairs at the small kitchen table. "Go on, sit down and tell me how your day was, Carson."

"I always have studying," Carson said sitting down. This was another routine. Mum making sure he wasn't feeling left out. " I'm pretty tired."

"You were up all of those hours, you should be tired." His mother sounded tense, though. These first days with new fosters were always funny. They felt... off. The house felt unsettled, until everyone got used to each other. "What do you plan on studying tonight?"

"I think Rodney and Grant want to help me so either my math or physical chemistry," Carson answered and exhaled. "Mum, Grant isn't autistic."

"I didn't think so. He's... verbal and affectionate." His mum was looking at him now, a little more open and curious. "How'd you come to that conclusion, though?"

"He's not like Andrew. He doesn't seem to have a problem recognizing emotions around him. He knows Rodney's moods down to every little hint. He recognized us arguing," Carson said. He tried to not to yawn.

"He's been deprived. Things we take for granted, he's not familiar with. Cheerios. Pancakes. Legos. We need to be careful in introducing him to these new stimulations. Now, today's Friday and tomorrow we have the weekend, so you can sleep in. Is there anything you want to do this weekend?" Study. Study like a mad fiend because Tuesday was his math final.

"Mum, I've got to revise. I'm not quite certain of a few things." As his dad said, you had to be as certain as possible in medicine because mistakes meant lives.

"You'll be fine staying home with the boys while your father and I go out to buy a few things? And I'm sure you can take enough time off tomorrow to join us for an ice-cream tasting?" His mother lifted her eyebrows at him.

"Oh, I could probably manage that. Grant likes chocolate, by the way. I think Rodney does too." Carson looked at his mum. "If you can buy Grant a soft cuddly toy from me, I'd appreciate it. He wants a pet and I think Rodney would too eventually."

"Mmm, the social worker was by earlier ,and she seemed very afraid. About the boys abusing each other or you or us or killing small animals. It's enough to make me wonder if she ever went to school or nurtured a thing in her life. We'll give it time for them to normalize a bit. Rodney's very mature, but..." But, aye, his mother had a twinge about him as much as she did about Grant, a sense that not all was right.

"They are... close, but..." Carson shrugged. "Mum, they're likely to be a wee bit wary of you and dad. For obvious reasons. Rodney feels strongly about that."

"I know, and I wish that they didn't, but we'll do what we can. Try to not overwhelm them, get us to trust them. I think you're going to have to be our aid in getting through to them, Carson. At least for a little while." His mother leaned away, putting the spaghetti into the boiling pot. "Your father had some good ideas while he was doing rounds in the hospitals, Carson, maybe you could...?" 

Could what? Help? He was already doing that. "I'll help with whatever," Carson offered. "I'll have more time after my exams are done."

"I know. I was more thinking you could go talk to your father before the spaghetti's done. He's still in shock that you ran away to the States for a few hours."

Carson groaned a little. "Okay." he said getting up. "If I'm not out in half an hour, send out search parties." He headed off into the living room trying not to look as guilty as he felt.

"If you’re not out in half an hour, Grant and Rodney'll have eaten your food and your father's." She was probably heading upstairs to collect them, and he used that to keep him from looking *so* guilty.

His father *was* busy, sitting on the floor with files around him, his lockable briefcase nearby. "Carson. I didn't hear you come in."

"I was talking to mum," he said truthfully. "She said you wanted to...uh..." 

Chew him out might give him ideas.

"Talk to you about what you took part in last night. Go on, sit down." He gestured for Carson to sit. "I really was going to go take Rodney on that drive today, but the two of you, uh, rendered me useless."

"Not entirely my idea, Dad. I did try and persuade him to wait," Carson said trying to pre-empt the scolding. "But I thought it was better than letting him drive alone."

"No, no, it was. I just wish you had woke us up and told me. I do appreciate the note." His father cleared his throat slightly. "What I want is that in the future, you could tell me if Rodney gets another 'plan' in his head."

Carson couldn't seem to get them to understand that Rodney moved like lightning the previous night. He'd been blurry around the edges, not sure if he'd heard something downstairs and snuck down to find Rodney hunting for his keys on his way out the door.

"If there is time, yes." he said. "This wasn't something he told me about dad. I heard a noise and found him heading out."

"Mmm. We need to get him to understand that he can't just run off." But on the other hand, Rodney gallivanted around like he was all grown up, and that was hard to put a stop to. It had been with Collin.

"Dad, Rodney... Rodney's had to be the one in charge, responsible all the way through. He doesn't understand that," Carson answered, feeling he was pointing out the obvious.

"I know. It's going to take time." His father seemed very insistent that it would eventually get through for Rodney, but by the time it did, he was likely to be out on his own again.

"So... mum said I wasn't grounded?" Carson half asked, half stated hopefully.

"Grounding you wouldn't be much different than your normal lifestyle," his father demurred. "So there's just no point. I want you to say 'Yes, I'll go' if any of your friends ask you to go to dinner or a movie or something, all right? There's a balance in studying."

"Sure." Carson agreed pretty damn sure that wasn't going to happen. "But... I don't want to screw up this exam. I need to get a good grade."

Or face humiliation from all his brothers and sisters for eternity.

"I know. But you're smart, Carson. There is a point where you can over-study for anything." His father glanced towards the kitchen, as if checking something, and then glanced back towards Carson. "Or you can help me look over these case files."

"Are those… are those Rodney and Grant's?" Carson asked sitting down next to his father.

"Yes. They, understandably, don't want to talk about their lives up until now. I'm just trying to get a feel for things we need to avoid exposing them to." His father handed him part of a folder and it made Carson straighten up. He was being trusted with a great responsibility and it was a special bond between himself and his father that he would do anything to not screw up . "It bothers me the things doctors notice and never report."

Carson could read fast, faster than people even realized. He glanced over the writing frowning deeply as the impact of the words sank in.

"Wait, they noticed marks and malnourishment during anaphylactic shock and they didn't report it?"

"There's a note that he's a picky eater," his father said, gesturing to the folder. "Two years later, he was in for a broken leg, and the doctor noted bruising, marks, and chafed genitalia. It was Flandrey, and I had a few words with him. The first one, fine, but if he'd bothered to read the last admission, he would've realized that it was possibly a pattern."

Carson thought about Rodney and tried to imagine that sort've abuse. "You only need to look at Grant to know he's been hurt."

"He'd never been to a doctor before he was admitted to the hospital for what I can only guess was a curling iron burn and malnutrition." His father gestured with a thinner folder. "This is my write-up, and the admitting physician's notes. When he was unconscious, we put him under x-rays. He's covered in hairline fractures, some healed, some new."

Carson looked at those as well, able to see where the fractures were from his dad encouraging him to be expert even from a very early age. He was, after all, the only one of the family to show an interest in following in his fathers’ footsteps. His dad didn't like to rely on anyone except his own eyes for diagnoses and had patiently shown him the minute differences that they looked for. He frowned a little. He did have an ability to visualize things which apparently was unusual. "Curled up," he said. "Where he curled up, the fractures are on forearms and ribs where you would kick from the back, and the lower legs if his knees were pulled up."

It seemed obvious in his head.

"Exactly. None of these injuries were from defending himself in an active manner. And they were exacerbated by malnutrition." His father's face was tense, and he went back to glancing at Rodney's file. "They're not violent boys, and I wish I could convince the social worker to stop asking about that."

"Tell them to ask me sometime," Carson said. "So they've got it in their heads that they might be dangerous?" He was willing to bet that was their mother’s fault.

"Yes. Three guesses where that concept came from. Why they give her any credit when in the same sentence she's... explaining how nine year olds seduced her, and chose to live in the cellar, I have no idea." 

"Rodney told me about her killing his natural father. Did he tell them that?" Carson asked. Surely they had proof of that.

"Yes. That's why they didn't release her on bail, but if they hadn't -- they're still extracting the skeleton from the floor. If they hadn't come across it, I think she might actually have gotten bail. But this is abuse *and* murder now." There was a frowning, scoffing tone to his father's voice when he said that. "If--"

"Lachlan, Carson, dinner! Grant, Rodney, it's dinner time!"

"Coming mum!" he called back hastily handing the files back. He felt oddly pleased that his dad had shared that with him, had a warm burst of pride in the treating him as a mature adult. That his father trusted that he'd look at an x-ray and be able to identify it. "I'll be up once I've got those locked away."

"Okay, I'll go check on Rodney and Grant," he said heading towards the stairs to see if the brothers were coming.

He was halfway up the stairs when he could hear Rodney wheedling with Grant again. "It's dinner. Three meals a day, Grant. That's what's normal."

"What...what happens when the food runs out?" Grant asked. "Long time, no food. Finite food, Rodney. You'll be hungry and not well."

"Not-finite food," Rodney countered. "Infinite food, Grant. It doesn't run out. You eat when you're hungry."

"Hey, you guys coming?" Carson peered in at them. "Something up?"

"Three meals a day is novel. Grant's afraid the food is going to run out." Rodney was holding Grant's hand again, tugging at it gently.

"Do I look like the food is danger of running out, Grant?" Carson smiled a little. He was stocky in build, always had been. "If we get low, mum goes and buys more. Sometimes I go and help. She's going tomorrow actually, but right now there's food waiting for you on the table downstairs."

"And it's, it's not going anywhere?" 

"No, it's not going anywhere," Rodney wheedled, taking another step down the stairs. "After dinner, Grant, we can draw or build more or whatever you want. Watch TV?"

"I would like that. I, I watched TV and there was a story about cat-people who had special swords and... one could run really fast, and one was very strong and there was another like a tiger...and and they saved other creatures!" Grant sounded excited by the whole deal and it made Carson grin. He never knew Thundercats was that interesting.

Maybe with new eyes watching the show, it might be. 

"Okay, TV it'll be." Rodney glanced at Carson, "If that's all right?"

With any luck, he could get some help with his exams and get to know his new foster brothers a little better in the process.

 

Grant was making cookies.

Cookies were just step 1 of many, and he was being heavily supervised through it by Carson's mother. It was Friday, the last day of school for the year, and the day that Carson would get his grades back on his final exams. Hopefully, they'd be edible, but Rodney had a lot of hope for that since it involved measuring and measurements. Grant sort-of enjoyed brushing his teeth and bathing, now that they were a daily event for him, but not quite yet a habit. Still, his brother smelled clean and smiled brighter now, had clothes of Rodney's that hung off of him and a few things the Becketts had bought them. 

The shirt was probably covered in flour by now, and Rodney wished he were in the kitchen with them. Instead he was trapped in living room with a stupid social worker who seemed convinced that Grant was some sort of psycho waiting to happen and he was one step short of building an atomic bomb in the basement.

He wished he *could* build a bomb in the basement. As it was, Rodney rubbed at his face and *looked* at her hard. "Look, I... don't know what to say. Or what you want answers for."

"Rodney, all I want to know is how you are adapting?" she said. "And whether there have been any incidents that have infuriated you or upset you."

Like they all expected him to be a ball of rage. Maybe he was, but it wasn't the Becketts fault. They'd been.... lenient with him, even though things weren't going the way he'd wanted it to go. His plan had perhaps been... a little over-reaching. He'd under-estimated how not-normal he and his brother was, and how deficit they were in things that seemed startlingly simple. "I think we're adapting well. There haven't been any incidents. Everything's been... very nice here."

"I was a little concerned to hear about your excursion in the middle of the night, Rodney." Miss Keyes leaned forward. "Tell me truthfully, were you considering running away?"

"No. I wanted to get my things back. My books, my clothes, things that Grant should have back. And I didn't want to leave Grant alone through the day." He shrugged his shoulders, trying to not let her get under his skin.

"You took the Becketts youngest son with you?" she asked in that patronizing tone. "Why did you do that?"

"He volunteered to come. I tried to leave on my own, but he said that his parents would ground him if I left on my own." He wasn't even sure what the point of the question *was*.

"Do you like him?" the social worker asked.

"Carson? He seems nice, and he treats Grant well." That was a good ruling on whether he liked someone or not.

"Do you like him... a lot?" Her tone seemed to be insinuating something.

"I don't know what you mean. I helped him study math for his finals, while we watched TV with Grant." What did they think he was going to do, kill Carson in his sleep?

She smiled a little. "Okay. Lets discuss plans for the future. You're 16, Rodney. You've indicated that you want to be responsible for your brother, rather than have him placed."

Placed, he didn't even know what they meant by that. "I don't want to be separated from him again, no."

"Your brother needs a lot of assistance," the social worker said. "He's not likely to be able to function in society on his own, Rodney."

"So? He's my brother. I want to take care of him. I want him to have the kind of life he deserves." It didn't seem hard to understand for Rodney.

"Rodney, how is that going to work at college?" The social worker pointed out.

"He can go to college with me," Rodney countered. "I can take time off, or pick up some classes locally until he's gotten his GED."

"You would consider moving college to accommodate him?" He wasn't sure why she sounded faintly surprised by this fact.

"Yes. If he can't get into Northwestern after he gets his GED, I, there's plenty of good colleges up here. Close in this area, I mean, University of Western Ontario's just here, and they have a decent engineering school to finish undergrad in." He leaned forward a little, leaning his elbows on his knees. "I'm brilliant. I'll do fine wherever I go, and it's just *undergrad*."

"We can help find you a college here, so you can have a base here," Miss Keyes said. "And Grant can have a stable base as well. The Becketts are more than happy to have you stay here."

"Okay. I want to be able to help Grant study towards his GED, so I plan to take at least the summer off. He's fine on math and sciences, but history and English..." Rodney shrugged. "I'd like that opportunity. To stay here."

"Well that's good. Why don't you look at what colleges are appropriate in the vicinity and then I'll do some paperwork for you okay?"

"University of Western Ontario," Rodney reiterated. "I looked at it back when I applied around the first time. It was my third choice, and they've already accepted me once." And he figured that it was maybe, *maybe* a fifteen minute drive to campus from where they were. Maybe 20. Not bad at all. "I preferred Northwestern down in the states at the time because I wanted to get away."

"Okay, if you are sure," she said. "I should be going now, unless there is anything else that you want to ask?"

"No, nothing I can think of." Just that he didn't like the general line of her questioning, and he didn't know what she was trying to imply with half of the questions. There was no reason for her to be surprised that he'd uproot his life for Grant. Without Grant... There wasn't a life.

As they stood, the door burst open, and Carson almost literally burst in and grabbed Rodney in a hug worthy of Grant. "Rodney, you bloody genius! 99%! 99%! That's what I got -- A+!"

"Hah! I told you you were smart enough for it!" Carson was contagious in his enthusiasm, and Rodney hugged him back, briefly, grinning. "You had those equations *down*. I knew it!"

"We need to celebrate, all of us need to celebrate!" He hadn't really seen Carson really smile since he had been there, and the effect was somehow dazzling. He then seemed to notice the social worker.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize Rodney was with someone."

"Mrs. Keyes, this is Carson, you've probably met before." Rodney pulled back a little. "She was just leaving, and Grant and your mother are baking *things* in the kitchen."

Mrs. Keyes was looking between the two of them. "Yes, well I'll have a talk with Mrs. Beckett another time. Congratulation on your grade."

"Thank you Mrs. Keyes," Carson said politely.

"Bye." Rodney was going to shadow her to the door, more than old enough to know to see someone out of the house and lock the door behind him.

She left but she was suspiciously looking over her shoulder at him all the time as she walked to her car.

"So..." Carson said. "Back to making plans."

"We were making plans? I really don't think the social worker likes me, and I'm trying to be nice to her, but..." Rodney closed the door and turned towards Carson.

"Ignore her. She thinks she knows more about you and it's all rubbish," Carson said waving a hand to dismiss her suspicions. "Celebration plans. My exams are over, school is over, and I can finally get some sleep and just relax."

"Sleep is for the weak," Rodney scoffed, half leading the way back through the living room towards the kitchen. "What kind of celebration?"

"Something. Anything?" Carson was just beaming at anything and everything as they entered the kitchen.

Rodney couldn't remember ever being that excited about his grades, even though they were that good. He held the door open for Carson, and ducked in to see Grant carefully stacking cookies on a cooling rack.

Grant glanced at them and smiled. He smiled a lot more now, that mirror of his smile, quirked on the other side. "Carson is home. I've made cookies Carson! Look. I mixed them myself and cut them and then we baked them for twenty minutes and then a little more until they were just right. I put chocolate in them! We are going to have them soon. "

"That we will, when they are a wee bit cooler." Carson's mum turned to her son and asked. "Good day, lovey? How were the results?"

"Great!" Carson said practically bouncing. "A+ all the way mum!"

It felt normal. It felt like watching TV shows of normal people's lives felt like, and Grant seemed to be settling in better than Rodney was. Rodney wandered over to Grant's side of the table, eyeing the precise spacing between each cookie, a buffer-space of what looked like 4mm. "So, what's so special about 4mm?"

"It will let me fit them on the rack," Grant said. "And… and it is nearly Pi. Pi for cookies."

Carson chuckled. "I like that. Pi for cookies - very appropriate, Grant."

If Grant could've gotten it to precise Pi, he would've. Rodney grinned, and leaned in to hug him. "You've been more productive with your day than I have."

"E... Everyone likes cookies," Grant answered. "You like cookies don't you, Rodney?"

"I definitely like cookies," Carson said. "Especially yours."

"I love cookies," Rodney affirmed, pulling away and rubbing at Grant's back a little. "And they look great."

Carson's mum smiled. "Well, we ought to celebrate tonight somehow. Carson, do you want to choose what we want for dinner?"

"Oh um.." He looked at Grant and Rodney. "What would you like?"

The shrug that Rodney gave was probably infuriating. "Anything. It's your celebration, Carson. Exams are over now, you can finally relax, etc etc?"

"Yes but I want to do that with you guys," Carson said. "Okay, pizza or roast? I can't decide on either?

"How about pizza?" Shona suggested, and Rodney nudged Grant a little. 

"You remember pizza, right?"

"Pizza? I liked pizza!" Grant said. "You brought me pizza Rodney....and and it was nice cold."

"Hot pizza is better." Carson added. "Let's do that. Pizza with everything."

"No pineapples. I'm never sure if they're citrus or not." It wasn't a risk he was willing to take, because what if they flavored them with citric acid? He'd had a run-in with too much of that, and it had put him off of anything like that tang for life.

"We can have different types. " Carson promised. "We've got a takeout menu here, we can look at it."

"There were vegetables on it." Grant announced.

"Green peppers and onions," Rodney agreed, eyeing a cookie before he reached out to adjust it just perfectly.

"Vegetable pizza is good," Carson agreed going over to look at the corkboard where the Beckett family pinned everything. "Here we go. I like their spicy chicken."

"Your father's working overnight tonight, so we could get one of each and put anything that's left in the fridge for tomorrow." Shona took the sheet, and Rodney leaned into Grant, seeping into the feeling of closeness.

"Spicy chicken sounds good, too. So, how long until we can try a cookie?" 

"At least another twenty minutes or so. " Shona said. "So shoo now the lot of you." She flapped her apron at them. "Go do what teenage boys do, whatever that is."

"If one of you two figure it out," Rodney declared lightly, "I'd appreciate it if someone told me." Grant was already moving for the door, though, and Rodney shadowed behind him gratefully.

They headed to what they regarded as their living room, which had a certain lived in look. Carson collapsed on the old couch with an exaggerated sigh.

"Do you all usually have that woman for a social worker?" Rodney asked, watching Grant sit down happily cross-legged on the floor.

"Mrs. Keyes?" Carson shrugged. "Not always. To be frank, I don't much like her."

Which was amazing, as Carson seemed to not have a bad word about anyone.

"She kept asking if I *liked* you. And then we talked about me changing universities, which won't be a problem because I've already been accepted into Western Ontario once before and I'm not leaving Grant any time soon." He lifted his eyebrows at his brother. "I feel like we should do something."

"What do you want to do?" Carson said. "I've got time now. I can do things, we can go places, just us three."

Rodney didn't know. He was expected to know, and Rodney just... didn't know. "What does... what do people usually do?"

"A good question," Carson said, "I am not exactly the most social person myself. But they go to the moves. Go out ...to sports, hockey, bowling, things like that. To plays, to places. Out for walks. Shopping... work on cool things."

"Work on cool things I think we can do. Grant, what do you want to do this summer?" He shifted, stretched out to flop on the floor. "Have you been in the backyard yet?"

"I, I went in the backyard for a little while, yes," Grant nodded holding on to the fluffy tiger toy Carson had given him. "It was bright and green and I saw a squirrel. Shona said the bird feeder had fallen down. I like birds."

"Did you like it back there? Outside, I mean. There's a lot of stuff to do outside, but only once it's comfortable for you." He remembered the look of terror and mixed up wonder that had clung to Grant's face the entire car ride to the house.

"There is a lot of blue. It was not too bad. Shona gave me an umbrella to start with so there was something above me," Grant said. "And showed me that the sky was full of things. I want to see the stars, Rodney, can we do that?"

"Yeah." At night it might be a little less wide and all enveloping, Rodney decided, tucking his hands behind his head. "You mind a little stargazing, Carson?"

"I think I'd enjoy that. We could start in the garden and then maybe take a trip out of town away from the lights some time," Carson said. "You know about stars?"

"Oh yeah. We know about stars," Rodney grinned, closing his eyes. "Grant hasn't seen them, but we had books and I made a correction in a few."

"Maybe in August we can watch the Perseid shooting stars," Carson suggested.

"Mmm." Rodney shifted, wiggled just enough to get the vertebrae at the lower half of his spine to crack. "Let's see, if we go out tonight... We'll at least get the big dipper and associated stars.”

"We'll make hot chocolate," Carson said and grinned.

"Hear that, Grant..." He was half aware that someone was laying down beside him, and that someone was Grant. "Hi."

"Why're we on the floor?"

"Because I've taken up the couch," Carson said ruffling at Grants hair. 

Rodney watched that motion, and Grant's relative ease with Carson being in his personal space. That was good, that Grant was getting okay with other people other than Rodney. They needed wider experiences, and Grant needed all of the attention and love in the world. 

He laughed, and pulled Grant closer. "Oof, well, that's a good answer."

"Just be grateful my brother Collin isn't here, he'd have you in a headlock by now," Carson said ruffling Rodney's hair,

"Why?" He liked the familiarity of Grant stretched out beside him, a mirror image at his side. It was nice to just... relax there, wondering what they were going to do with their time.

"Because that's what older brothers do. Well... Collin anyway. Allan didn't do that so much, although Isobel would," Carson said. "It was quiet for a while when they moved out."

"We don't... put each other in headlocks," Rodney shrugged. They touched, a lot, and when they were alone they did things with each other, but hurting Grant was just beyond the pale.

"Well, it's more rough and tumble," Carson answered. "At least they won't be able to tease me about grades thanks to both of your help."

Grant leaned into him and yawned. "I like cooking,"

"Yeah? I'm pretty bad at it. I did work out how to use the coffee pot in my dorm room to cook anything, but I wouldn't call it good. Your cookies looked really good, Grant." Still smelled good. Rodney opened his eyes a little more, looking at Carson upside down.

Carson grinned at him. "Gotta learn to cook in this house, even if we're getting take-out tonight as a treat."

"I like you," Grant said randomly.

It was hard to not smile. "Wide praise," he decided, waving at Carson with his free hand. "I remember, when we were little, our father had a telescope. I can't remember anything we saw through it, but I remember *it*." White, and it leaned in the corner, the front wrapped in cloth, and then it went away. Just like their father, just like a lot of things.

"We, we saw the moon and mare imbrium which was the sea of rains, and then we saw Venus and Jupiter," Grant said.

Carson paused a moment. "Rodney, how old were you then?"

"Three. Everything went to hell a couple of weeks later." He turned a little, watching Grant's face. "Now do you see why I keep saying that Grant's going to be amazing once he gets the chance? I'm right, you will, Grant."

"Yes... yes. " He smiled shyly and glanced at Rodney and then at Carson. "I remember everything I've… I've ever seen. Ever."

That had Carson's attention. "You have an eidetic memory? Do you have perfect pitch as well?"

"Perfect pitch?" Rodney moved, leaned up a little, careful to not unsettle Grant's comfortable position when he did so. "Why would he?"

"I read one of dads medical journals that said there is a strong link between the two... here, there's a piano in Isobel’s room, do you want to try?"

"You have a piano here? Just sitting here?" He hadn't been able to play the piano in well over a year, because he hadn’t been 'able' to earn the privilege over Christmas holiday. Jeannie had instead labored over it, and he'd had to listen to her complain that she hated it.

The fact that he had Grant up and on his feet in *seconds* was, of course, completely unrelated.

"Aye, I'm no good at it, but Mairi and Jamie were and Isobel. Collin went for guitar, and Aileen can play violin brilliantly. Mum plays the piano sometimes. Dad and I can just about sing, but not play an instrument," Carson explained.

"Rodney! Piano?" Grant picked up on his excitement.

"Yeah, a piano." He'd always promised that he'd teach Grant to play, with a real piano instead of keys drawn on paper and no foot pedals and only a few sheets of music to work from. "Can we?"

"You can play?" Carson asked, eyes wide. "C'mon, follow me."

It was hard to not drag Grant with him physically while they followed Carson out of the room and down the hallway, and Jesus, these people just had a piano lurking in someone's bedroom.

"Here we go. Not a grand or anything, but decent enough. At Christmas we take it downstairs for singing and carols," Carson gestured. "Help yourself Rodney."

"Gladly." It was just a little thing, a home piano, and Rodney lifted the key cover with reverence. "Oh, and I bet it needs tuning, but this is fantastic... Grant, c'mere. This is a *real* piano."

"Not paper keys," Grant said, even as Carson dragged the piano stool over for them.

"Go on, play me something," Carson said with a grin.

Rodney shoved the stool under Grant, and sat him down firmly. "Real piano, real keys. Go on, give it a try," Rodney encouraged.

Grant sat and bent right over the keys, looking at them from about six inches away from the key that he pressed and was intent on the sound. He pressed another and giggled. 

Then he looked at Rodney and placed his fingers on the keys and moved them as he had on the paper keys they made.

He had a problem to start with, where he didn't depress the key, fingers dragging against the side of keys, but soon he adjusted for that, and Rodney only half-heard Mrs. Beckett come into the room. It didn't matter that it was the same three pages of music that Grant was running over and over.

She gently tapped Grant on the shoulder to stop him after the tenth repetition, but the look on Grant's face was like he'd discovered a new world. "Music!"

"I had no idea you could play, Grant... Rodney?" Shona asked.

"I showed him on paper, and I played for a while..." He glanced up at her. "I, is this all right? Using the piano?"

"Of course sweetheart," Shona said, patting his shoulder, "Can I hear you play?"

"I'd like that too," Carson said from where he had faded into the background once again.

Carson was exceptionally good at it, blending away. "Oh, uh, Grant was..." Except Grant moved over like lightning, and with room on the bench, there was no reason to not sit down and play a little.

Even when his mother belittled his playing it was a means of escaping, of getting lost in the music. He'd gone to every extra class he could after school to stay away from home the longest he could.

He wanted to play, he didn't care if he wasn't anything but technical, and he wanted it.

Fingers on the keys were familiar, and Grant at his side was new and amazing, and he liked that, the familiarity that carried with him to an old hobby. He knew Chopin well, though it started off unsteadily, and he stopped to restart, and it was just Piano Concerto No. 1, but it was *playing*.

A little while longer and the notes began to flow, flow enough he could close his eyes and feel the music like mathematics falling into water, liquid perfection of sound.

He'd missed that, losing himself in it, whether he was really any good at it or not. He wasn't a concert pianist, never would be -- too clumsy, too artless, just one more thing for his mother to grind into him. But he enjoyed it, and he had Grant by his side.

 

He'd been to the bathroom, unable to settle with the nights warmer than normal and he'd been sure he'd heard noise from Rodney's room, as if he cried out.

Maybe he was having a nightmare or something. Carson wasn't going to walk past if he had been crying out to him. Tentatively he pushed at the door about to say "Rodney?" when he stopped.

Stopped, and suddenly wished that he'd just stayed in his room, that he wasn't seeing a damn thing, that he'd ignored that noise, because he could see too much by the light of the window into Rodney's room. Bare skin, two bodies worth of it, and one of them on top of the other, and it was impossible to tell without hearing words, seeing expressions which one was which.

There was sleeping with your brother and *sleeping* with them. 

He didn't know what to do, he stood there rooted to the spot. Sure, he knew they would be fucked up but this...this he wasn't ready to see and if Mrs. Keyes found out...

They'd be separated, and Rodney would probably be pressed with charges or something because she was that sort of woman, hard and no nonsense, except that it would ruin both of their lives and Carson had no idea what to do.

He stood there just long enough to be sure one of them had seen him and then disappeared to his room. What was he going to do? Jesus! He wasn't sure he could talk to his mum or dad. They'd have to report it or something.

And then things would fall apart, and he *liked* Rodney and Grant. He liked them, but he certainly wasn't qualified to help anyone get over an urge to fuck their own brother, or whatever they'd been doing in there. There'd been an awful lot of introducing them to the nicer things in life in the house since they'd come, but not much in dealing with the wrongs that had been done against them, and what the effects were.

And lord, he wasn't capable of handling it, at all. He was still months away from 16.

This always happened. Somewhere along the line it screwed up big time, traumas, nightmares, self harm, suicidal impulses, stealing, bullying, and acting out. He sat on the edge of his bed thinking and thinking. The only way to do this was to not let anyone know and try and fix things enough. Some problems were...okay, others like this were not.

If he'd walked in there and caught Rodney trying to cut his wrists, all would've been well. He knew what to do with self-harm or suicidal impulses. Or stealing, or acting out, or... This was new in his field of experiences. Rodney and Grant, having sex.

He was suddenly in a position to screw up their lives and, even more disturbingly there was another emotion there he didn't recognize in himself. Something hot and flickering and unknown.

Fuck. This was not okay, so very far from being okay.

He was thinking hard about going to wake his mother up despite his fears, when there was a quiet tapping at his door.

"Come in," he murmured. "Come in..." It was barely a whisper but it was audible.

The door pushed open slowly, and then closed slowly behind the other boy, and Carson guessed it was Rodney because Grant hadn't learned how to sneak yet. "I... hi."

"Rodney." Carson looked at him. "I guess…you saw me?" he asked.

"Yeah. I uh, over Grant's shoulder." He had pajama bottoms on, but no shirt, and his cheeks looked red.

"We need to talk about this Rodney," Carson said, and he didn't want to be the one talking. "What you were doing... you know? It's, it's wrong Rodney."

"We've, we've done that for years." It was all Rodney offered as he came closer into the room. "I, Grant wasn't sleeping well and we kissed and it just led to this. It's a comfort."

"I get that," and he really did. He could barely comprehend some of the things he had found out about Rodney and Grant's life before, but he could see how they only had each other and they'd been taught sex was the coinage of love as part of their abuse. He patted the bed next to him. "But...it's, it's incest Rodney and against the law, and..."

It could mean big, big trouble.

He probably needed to spell that out for Rodney, too. "Oh. It, we don't..." Rodney sat down, and ran a hand through his hair. "It's not hurting anyone."

"Oh god, Rodney, don't make me be the responsible one here," Carson said in a near groan. "Look, okay, I *know* you'd never hurt Grant, I know you love him, but you've got to understand this. I'm talking about social services, the police. They think Grant is... disabled, they’d think you were doing to him what your mother was doing to you."

Rodney's expression, carefully controlled until then, crumpled, and he looked sick. "I'm not, I *wouldn't*, it's not like that."

"I know that Rodney, but...to them we're still kids!" Carson replied. "Never mind you been through more than most adults will ever see. I… I don't want them to take either of you away, but if they find out they'll split you up."

"I... I can't talk about this. I have to get Grant out from under the bed. I, it won't happen again. It never happened at all." And then Rodney was standing up to leave.

"Rodney, please." Carson felt completely shitty about this. "Rodney...I need you to tell me about stuff okay? I won't tell mum or dad."

"I don't know what to tell you!" He hissed it, still quiet. "I have a really shitty basis for right and wrong, and something we've been doing for years is apparently comparable to what mother did to us, so I don't know anymore. I have to go calm down Grant."

"Go and calm him down," Carson said in a soft voice. "I'm... not doing this to hurt you. I'm trying to help you both."

"I..." He rubbed a hand through his hair again, and he looked sick, distressed. "No, it's, I have no idea what's right and what's wrong anymore."

"Then I'll help you, but.." Carson reached to touch him. "Look, mum and dad don't have a choice, if they find out they have to tell the authorities by law. I'm a kid, I don't have to say anything. We've gotta keep this quiet. Grant needs to know as well without tipping anyone off."

"I'll talk to him." Rodney seemed to think he could get through to Grant, and maybe he could. It was hard to imagine Grant being at all deceptive though. "And it won't happen again."

There was something in his tone though. "Rodney, we're okay aren't we? I mean, you're not going to start avoiding me or anything, are you?"

"I'm not thinking that far ahead. Look, I, I need to get Grant out from under the bed. He likes small spaces." And with that, Rodney pulled the door open.

"You need help or would that make it worse?" Carson offered feeling sick to his stomach as well.

Rodney hesitated, and then murmured, "Yeah, sure. C'mon." He supposed that if they were loud enough for their parents to inspect, he'd just say that Grant had had a nightmare. With Grant, he supposed he could get away with a naked nightmare kind of excuse, because last week the hot water heater had glitched, and spurted out cold water instead of warm, and Grant had raced naked around the house like an injured cat until Rodney had corralled him with a towel and escorted him back up to the bathroom.

He followed Rodney into the room and at first glance it seemed like there was no one in there. He would've said it wasn't possible for Grant to get under the bed but he seemed to have squeezed himself in there somewhere. But when they bent down, there was the glimmer of dim light catching on the whites of eyes.

Rodney crouched down, eyeing Grant quietly for a moment before he simply said, "Hi. You want to come out?"

"N-No," Grant replied shortly.

"We'd really like it if you did." Carson added.

Rodney held a hand out, moving slowly. "C'mon. It's more comfortable out here."

"No," Grant said again. "You, you ran away from me." The tone was accusing at Rodney.

"That was my fault, Grant," Carson put in hastily. "My fault not Rodney's okay?"

"I saw Carson in the doorway, and..." And Rodney didn't know what to say, just stayed crouched there a hand held out. "We need to talk. I wasn't running from you."

Grant seemed to think about this for a moment, then reached his hand out to Rodney even as Carson exhaled with relief.

"Don't like talking . That means bad things," Grant said as he wriggled out.

“Yeah, but it's you and me," Rodney insisted, helping Grant get out, reaching for Grant's pajama bottoms. "Carson, could you close the door?"

"Sure," Carson obeyed the suggestion, hoping that his mum hadn't picked up on them all being up. When he turned back Rodney was helping Grant put on his pajamas again. 

"Why did you run away?" Grant asked. "Everything was, was fine. Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, it was, it was good, it's just. Carson says we shouldn't do that anymore. That if the social worker or his parents knew, they'd split us up. Because they'd think it's just like what mom did to us." Rodney looked queasy, even as he handed Grant a t-shirt to wear.

Grant looked completely perplexed. "I… I don't understand." He said. "It feels good?"

"It feels good," Rodney agreed. "Except it's bad. Because we're brothers. *I* don't think it's bad, but if other people found out..."

"They wouldn't just split you up," Carson said quietly. "They would make sure you never saw Rodney again."

Grant looked stricken. "Never? Mum said never. I don't want it to be n...never."

"I don't know what they'd do with you, so we can't, we can't do that anymore. We can't. I don't want to lose you." Rodney edged in closer, like he was drawn by that stricken look, and hugged Grant.

"I can be good," Grant murmured , so softly and broken that Carson felt tears sting in his eyes at sound of it.

"We won't let them split you up," Carson put in. "I promise Grant."

"We'll both be good. We just, we can't do that anymore. That's all." Rodney hugged Grant closer, shifting towards the bed to sit down. "We'll just sleep. Not... the other, not anymore."

"But... but you don't love me anymore?" Grant asked,

Carson groaned. That was exactly the sort've thing that would trigger a bad reaction by adults.

"No, no, I do. I do love you. We just, we can't do *that* any more. If we do, they'll put me somewhere bad, okay? I still love you. You're Grant."

"But..." Grant seemed confused. 

"People don't have to have...sex to love other people, Grant," Carson said aiming it at Rodney as well. "You do that outside of people in your family."

Rodney was just nodding, while he shifted and pulled Grant to sit down with him on the bed. "Not me."

"That's one of the things they think was so bad with your mum," Carson tried to explain. "For a parent to do that to their children, it's really bad."

It didn't seem to deter Rodney from rubbing fingers restlessly along Grant's back. "So, we just can't do that anymore. Or talk about ever... ever having done it. Okay?"

"Okay.” Grant acquiesced to that, soothed by the touch. "Not talk." He mimed zipping his lips and throwing away a key.

"Okay." Rodney still looked miserable, but he nodded. "Okay. Think you can go back to sleep now?"

"Yes. Yes, sleep now," Grant said after unzipping his lips again and Carson exhaled with relief.

He hadn't thought it would work, and then everything would've gone to heck, and he didn't want that. He'd just wanted to talk, no... but at least he'd been the one to see it, not his mum or his dad. It was something to be grateful for. Rodney looked at Carson and nodded.

"Night."

A dismissal then. He nodded a little and backed out of the room. He still felt sick, disturbed but he'd have to live with that.

 

He and Carson were going out. His confiscated car keys were duly handed over, and he and Carson were turned loose on the city, which left him hoping that Carson had a plan, because he just had a vague, wild hopes and plans and a little pocket money and no idea at all what to do with it.

"So, you have preferences?" Carson asked as they got in the car. "It's good to get out of the house."

"It is." Rodney stretched once he was in the driver's seat, looking for the brake with his foot. "No preferences. I was hoping you might have some."

"Well, I think we should do some things just for you," Carson replied smiling a little. "You do all this stuff for Grant, you need to have your own life. Believe me, with six brothers and sisters I know how that is."

"That still doesn't help me figure out what we should do," Rodney shrugged. "I, I never really had a life before, so..."

"Well I have some things booked that I thought might give you tasters of things to be interested in," Carson said. "First stop is only about fifteen minutes away but we have to be there by ten. Take a left at the end of the road and keep driving for a couple of miles."

"Okay. Tell me when to turn," Rodney prompted, starting his Vega up. It rumbled to life, tried to stall, and then caught and kept going. "Do you do much car repair?"

"Me? Not so much. We should take this one to the garage today as well, get it looked at," Carson said.

"I can show you a little car repair," Rodney offered, grinning as he started to drive it forward. "Maybe later we could try the library and see if we can find a manual?"

"Definitely need to get you all set up with access to all the books that have ever existed," Carson said as they took the route he'd indicated. "Right when we reach the second set of lights."

Rodney leaned to make sure there wasn't anyone in the other lane, and then he made that right. "Okay. So, library is definitely something for later. I really want to start Grant studying for his GED. Your mother probably thinks I'm insane."

"No, she knows Grant is smart, and he'll absorb information like a sponge. She's trying to teach him social stuff. People things." Carson glanced at him. "When Grant's explaining things he knows about he stops stuttering and… well he sounds like you."

"People things are hard." He still felt shaken from that night when Carson had caught he and Grant having sex, from being told that something he'd always accepted as normal wasn't. 

"Aye." Carson waited a moment. "Stop at the house there, the one with the roses at the front, see it?"

They weren't red, but coral-ish, and Rodney carefully parked in front of the house. "Okay. I'm assuming we're here for a reason...?" He turned the car off warily once it was in park.

"Oh yes," Carson smiled. "You'll like it, I promise. We're here to see Professor Verenzo. She's had the dubious honor of teaching the Beckett family music, with varying degrees of success. I thought you might like to try a lesson with someone who could actually teach you something."

"She -- piano?" Rodney asked hopefully as he popped his door open with care. "Are we here for piano?"

"Proper piano," Carson said beaming. "She's very good and I think she will be delighted to have a talented pupil."

"I'm not talented," Rodney dismissed, even as he watched Carson open the woman's yard gate.

"You really are, Rodney," Carson answered. "I find it strange you know how good you are mentally, but can't see that musically." He rang the bell when they reached the door.

"Mom stopped paying for my lessons when I was 12. Jeannie was 4ish and wanted to start taking ballet, or she wanted her to start taking ballet. My teacher said I was mechanical anyway. That it was pointless to keep going."

Carson looked at him. "Rodney, has it ever occurred to you that she was lying? I've heard you play. You are so much better than that."

"Yes it's occurred to me that she was lying, but... I haven't had good practice in years, is all," Rodney shrugged, and then the door opened, and he was really glad it wasn't his old teacher.

"Well, Carson, you are looking well," Professor Verenzo said smiling. "This is Rodney, yes?"

"Yes, he's very good, Professor," he said.

"Come in, come in," she beckoned. "Welcome."

"Thank you. Carson, uh, said that you're going to, uh, that you taught his family instruments?” It was hard to not feel eager while he looked at her and around her living room.

"Indeed I have. I am afraid that Carson has not been one of my best pupils, as he would say himself, but he has been very high in his praise for you. This gives me hope. It is a teacher's most fulfilling dream to have a pupil that challenges them. I will see if you are that pupil." She moved steadily forward and gestured to the baby grand piano. "Come, sit. Sit. Let me hear your musical voice."

"Do you want me to just... sit down and play something?" He started towards the baby grand, and looked at it reverently.

"Yes. Play me something you like the most," she asked looking at him over the rim of her glasses. "Play something that means something to you."

He had to think about it for a minute. There were a lot of songs he knew well and enjoyed, but there were songs he knew well and didn't enjoy and then there were songs he hadn't played in a while and loved and hadn't played in a while because he loved them. "All right. I'll, uh..." He glanced at her, and then at Carson, and sat down and tried to decide.

Carson smiled encouragingly and sat down on a couch at the back of the room while the Professor took a seat near the piano and closed her eyes. "In your own time Rodney."

"It's been a while," he warned, before he found the fingerings, tested the keys for a moment before he started to warm up into the 1812 overture for piano.

She didn't interrupt him and, though he was self-conscious when he started, he soon let go of that and just slipped into the piece. It was one he remembered and enjoyed, and his fingers felt a little stiff but there it was, notes resonating, as they should be played.

He enjoyed the music, and he knew the historical background and he could wallow in something that rose up in his subconscious, just for a few minutes.

At the end of the piece, he left his fingers resting on the keys and exhaled and looked up to see Professor Verenzo watching him.

"And when did you learn that piece, Rodney?"

"I was eleven." Rodney twisted a little, still looking at her.

She pursed her lips and then rather shockingly slapped her hand down on the arm of her chair. "That such an ability should go unnutured... this is a travesty. You will be my pupil Rodney. You play with a maturity beyond your years."

He relaxed a little, and couldn't help but grin. "Oh, god, I didn't think I was any good, not after not having lessons for so long, thank you."

"You are good, Rodney, but there is a lot to learn before you are...superb," the musician replied. "And I doubt you will settle for less. Now, let us review this piece in sections. You know the notes, but your expression needs work. Your entrance needs to be bolder, decisive."

He'd forgotten a lot of it, but he wasn't going to argue with her. "All right. I can probably do that..."

He started to try it again, knowing that she was listening, and she stopped him, corrected, pointed out other choices, and they worked their way through the song like that, start to finish.

At the end of it he was exhilarated by what he discovered he could do, and Professor Verenzo was smiling. "Good. Good. You will practice, Rodney. We will go through all those pieces you can remember and then we will start on expanding your repertoire and skills."

"You might be surprised by how much I can remember." He had to be grinning ear to ear when he offered his hand to her. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm going to practice until the Becketts make me stop."

"Then practice what you know in light of what we have done here today, and I will see you at this time next week." She stood as she shook his hand. "Remember Rodney, living and experiencing is as important as practice to give your music depth. That, as much as anything, can be counted as practice."

"Thank you. This time next week, I'll be here promptly." There wasn't anywhere else for him to be, because he... he had a piano teacher. Again, and she escorted them outside and he waited until they were almost to the car before he mugged Carson into a brief hug. "You!"

"Was it a good idea?" Carson said, half laughing as he hugged back.

"This was a brilliant idea! I have a piano teacher again!" Even just for an hour every week, it was miraculous. He had someone to ask questions of, someone to ask for challenges.

"Well, I asked mum and I called the Professor a couple of nights ago and arranged a time," Carson said looking almost shy. "She said she would see you first. You really were amazing, Rodney."

"All right, maybe I was a little amazing, but I..." Had something to do in his copious free time. 

Carson laughed at him again. "Well, I should've saved that until last. Next, we're going to go into town and see what you think of one of the arcades. They've got some pretty cool games there now which you'll either like or decide you could build a better one. What do you think?"

"Yeah. That sounds great. Just you and me and some video games." It felt decadent, and Rodney was almost shivering with anticipation of just... doing normal things. No consequences, no strings attached.

"Mum says it's good for me. She says it's not natural for someone to study as much as I do," Carson smiled a little as they walked to the car. "So I guess that goes for you as well. Plus I think she wants to gradually encourage Grant to do his own things as well."

"I'm sure he'll find his own things in time." Rodney unlocked his car, and settle back into the driver's seat. "So, when does she expect us back?"

"We have all day, Rodney. I thought we could eat out somewhere," Carson said. "I haven't spent any money for ages."

He sort-of knew that feeling, and nodded once Carson was settled into the car. "Okay -- you know any good places locally?"

"Well, a few. There’s some next to the arcade, so let's head there and see what you make of those first," Carson said. "I haven't played one for ages and Jamie said there were some good games out now. And you can get computers for the home and play them there as well. I'm hoping we might get one for Christmas or birthday."

"Really?" Right, but Carson's father was a doctor, so. So that was that, and how that was a possibility. "Wow. Okay, uh, what way am I turning?"

Carson directed him patiently through the streets to a parking lot next to the arcade. "You ever done this before?"

"Done what?" He parked, glanced around, then backed up and re-parked so he wasn't crooked.

"Go and hang out at an arcade. Try an amusement park? That sorta thing?" Carson asked.

He turned the car off, and shook his head. "No. I've had kind of a restricted..." He unbuckled his seat belt. "Life."

Carson nodded slowly. "Guess the first step is trying out things to see if you like them. We've got the summer."

"I want Grant to do these things, too, but..." He wasn't there yet. He could hardly leave the house, let alone just drive in randomly guided circles.

"He will, but he needs to have a little more exposure to the world first," Carson said. "It might be overwhelming if he does it too soon. Mum knows what she's doing. She'll get him used to doing things for himself at home. Then she'll do things like get him to go out to the park with her, and then maybe send him to post a letter at the mailbox on the corner for her. Then they'll go shopping, that sort of thing."

"Slow, right." He got out of the car, waiting for Carson to join him. On the one hand, he wished Grant were there. On the other hand, it was sort of nice to be doing something just for himself. With no worries that something horrible would happen to Grant if he did something for himself.

Carson at least knew enough to lead the way into the place, which was dark and filled with flashing lights and noise, and kids of all ages. "We'll need to get some change, then pick a game."

"Okay... Yeah." It was hard to not be overwhelmed for a moment, and Rodney turned around, twisting, and stumbling a little because it was loud and dazzling in there.

Carson was already up changing their dollars into handfuls of coins and he grinned at Rodney. "Let's see what looks good."

He had a handful of coins, and too many games with flashing lights on the top, neon and intriguing pictures on the sides. "Which ones are good?"

"I quite like Rampage," Carson gestured to one of the machines. "It's a wee bit more challenging than space invaders."

There was a King Kong on the side, and Rodney edged in closer to that one. "Okay, sure."

"Let's have a go. I'll show you my poor attempt at the game, then you have a go, then we can both play at the same time," Carson said.

He watched Carson start it up, picking a generic King Kong character after he slipped his coin in, and started to rampage his way up a small skyscraper while a military sort started to take shots at him. It was funny in a strange sort've way and Carson seemed to be focusing on it with great intent right up to the point where he said. "My brother Collin says he’s going to fly helicopters and planes like these."

"He's in the military?" There was a 'join now' option, and Rodney stepped up to join in, and got a Godzilla character to start on the skyscraper next door.

"Yeah, Airforce. I don't know if mum and dad were appalled or proud," Carson said. "Bugger!" His King Kong was in a bit of trouble.

"Here, I think you need to..." Rodney controlled his Godzilla over to stomp on the little military guys, and grinned. "See?"

Carson grinned back. "I had a feeling you'd be good at this," he said and after that it was easy to lose themselves in the games around them.

Before he knew it, most of the morning had gone one way or another, and by the time Carson laughingly called a halt on a game where Rodney was kicking his ass, he was astonished to find that he was hungry after all. Ravenous, in fact, as they went in search of food.

Burgers seemed to be the nearest options, right next door with onion luring them in.

Rodney did have food preferences -- in terms of choices, not pickiness. Presented with *that* many options, he went for the onion rings, and the burger, and the milkshake, and if they were going home right after he was going to get Grant one 'To Go'.

"So what do you want to do next?" Carson said as he sat down with his burger, picking at the fries. 

"What, there's more?" He was taking his time with the food, dissecting an onion ring.

"Up to you. Could be," Carson shrugged. "I didn't know how much would be enough, you know? We could go look at the stuff in the computer shop, or music or videos if you like. You can hire out recent movies, or see what’s on at the movie theatre. Or… go to a bookshop, or we could just go home?"

He didn't want to go home yet. Rodney stretched a leg slightly, eyeing Carson instead. "No, I kind of just like this. It's nice. Relaxing. We could go by a bookstore?"

"Sure, I'd like to see if they got anything new in. Then, usually, because I'm a cheapskate, I go and order it at the library," Carson said with a smile. He took a big bite of his burger. "Mm. Did you have a cheeseburger in the end?"

"Yeah. They said they usually have bacon, but -- they listened when I said 'no mayo' which is great, so..." He shrugged, and picked it up to take another bite. "Mmhmp."

Carson snorted a little. "Don't choke, it's not running anywhere," he teased. "I think this is the first time I've seen you eat something without offering some to Grant."

"He's not here to offer it to." But he smiled when he said it because, hey, it was true. Rodney swallowed, starting to concentrate a little. "We always shared food. It's weird to not have to do that."

"Have to admit, we're not the best examples of that. Someone was always trying to swap something off of their plates while mum's back was turned." Carson smiled. "It became an art form at Sunday lunch."

"How?" He wasn't even sure how that would work, so he needed, wanted, Carson to explain it to him. It was completely unrelated to the fact that he wanted the meal to linger on.

"Well, Isobel hates cabbage, so she would swap it with Mairi for the carrots she wasn't keen on. Collin would try and steal Jamie's roast parsnips and would only get them in exchange for a roast potato. Allan and Aileen would have this battle with peas. Neither of them like them so they would keep trying to put them on each other's plates and they'd end up bouncing around the table," Carson said. "All this going on in the five seconds when mum turned her back to get the next dish."

"Wow." He laughed, and picked up another onion ring. "The dining room at home was... nothing like that. Quiet, except for Jeannie. My step-dad would wash the dishes afterward, and I'd take a half plate down to Grant as soon as I could get away with it."

"So, you weren't ever eating a full meal were you?" Carson asked. "And I've not heard you talk about Jeannie much either."

"She's nine. She's my baby half sister, and she was the apple of our mother's eye. Everything she'd ever wanted Grant and I to be." And he maybe resented her for it. "I hope she's okay."

"If your step father wasn't involved then I guess she'll be with him," Carson said. "I could ask Dad to find out for you if you want?"

"I'd appreciate that. He... As far as I *know*, he wasn't involved. He was either actively ignoring it, or he was just that stupid." It was almost enough to put a man off of his onion rings, but... fried breaded goodness was hard to give up on.

"People sometimes are...that stupid," Carson said. "Seen that happen a few times." In some ways, Carson had seen a lot of things, and in others he was very naive.

It was kind of funny, but Rodney supposed he was the same way. Sure, he knew about science and math and physics, but being *out* in the world was a hell of a different thing. "Yeah. That was... stupid. Sometimes I wanted to just grab him and shake him to get him to just... see. Except she didn't have qualms about killing."

"You'd had proof of that," Carson agreed. "I'd be terrified myself. For myself and the others."

"If what?" He took another sip of the milkshake, just letting it all filter into his senses.

"In case she did that again. To them or to you," Carson said. "I do have an over-active sense of empathy sometimes. Often leads one of my uncles to try ridiculous things to 'toughen' me up. Unsurprisingly, Collin is Uncle Moran's favorite."

Rodney grimaced around a mouthful of burger. "Because toughening people up is such a great idea. I think it's over-rated."

"Yes, well, he doesn't visit that often," Carson answered slurping at his milkshake. "Which is good. He is not one of my favorite relatives, but I have a lot of random fears due to him, like of deep water and heights."

"Tried to teach you to swim by throwing you in, did he?" Rodney lifted his eyebrows at Carson. "My step father thought that was a *fantastic* idea. And so was dragging me up stairs that had open backs, you know the ones where you think you're going to go all the way through it?"

"Oh bloody hell, yes," Carson shuddered. "But then on the other hand, Jamie and Mairi, who are fearless about that, faint at the sight of blood, whereas I've been watching dad's tapes on operations for a long time. I could do an emergency tracheotomy now if I had to."

"Is that the tube through the neck thing?" Rodney asked with a gesture to his neck.

"Yep." Carson beamed. "Dad showed me how to find the right spot. He used to do a lot of surgery before he specialized."

"Huh." Rodney took another bite of his burger, and stopped the lick cheese goo off of his fingers. "So, you're going to be a doctor some day."

"Yeah. Doctor and scientist. That's what I'd like to do, if I'm good enough. " Carson had finished his burger. "It's weird, out of all of us, I'm the only one following in Dad's footsteps. Allan works for some big bank and stock exchange. Aileen is a lawyer, Collin's in the air force, Jamie is a professional photographer and artist, but doing work for the big newspapers. Mairi works in the film industry as an artist with props and design. Isobel is a professional singer and actress, picking up small roles here and there, and I'm...well, they cast pretty big shadows in our family." Carson admitted.

"I like you," Rodney declared, never mind that it didn't mean much. "Your studying makes sense, though."

"I don't want to be the first Beckett failure," Carson said. "I'm not like you, Rodney, it doesn't come as easily as it does to you and Grant, but I'm glad you like me."

"I dream concepts, thoughts. And you keep saying that, Carson, but... I spent so long hearing her say there was something wrong with us that it catches on after a while. I wonder if maybe we'd both be young geniuses already on our way to world conquest if she just had have ignored us in a more normal way. Or potheads. With chaos theory, it's always so hard to guess like that."

Carson laughed at that. "Psychedelic fractals. Anyway, you finished? Let's go find a decent bookshop."

"Mmm, I still have onion ring dust..." Rodney dabbed it up with his fingertip, and stuck it into his mouth. "The milkshake comes with me, until we figure out where we're going. You know any good local ones?"

"Oh, one or two," Carson said with a smile.

Probably five or six. "I want to see if I can find a manual on that beast I've been driving, maybe work on making it better. You know, so we don't wonder if it's going to stall out or just explode when we come to a stoplight."

"You fill me with confidence in your car. I think we'll walk through to the book store," Carson commented. "It's close enough."

Rodney laughed a little as he stood up out of the chair. "Okay. Did I tell you that it broke down twice in my drive up here?"

"It's a bloody miracle we made it to the college and back intact," Carson said, stuffing his hands casually in his pockets. "If we find a book, can I help you work on it? Might convince Dad I know what I'm doing around a car."

"Yeah. I think I'd probably need an extra pair of hands, anyway, and I need to keep this car going for at least a few more years, so..." So, why not? And he could show Grant, because it seemed like something Grant would like, too. Mucking about with seals and hoses. He kept a good grip on the milkshake, waiting for Carson to edge towards the door with him.

Carson led the way again, chilled and relaxed in his jeans and t-shirt as they wandered down the street in search of the book shop. "You think Grant would like comics?" he asked, glancing over at him.

"Does. He does like them," Rodney corrected. "When I could get them to him. Superhero ones are the best."

"Place I'm thinking of has a section. We could go see what was new for him as well," Carson answered. "Might as well blow our allowance. How much have you got?"

"After dinner and the arcade, I've got five left." That was a couple of comics and a couple of books.

"Mum will give us an allowance a week, and usually she and Dad set up a chore list beyond our usual with price tags for each thing, like cleaning out the garage and you know, that sort've stuff. We quite often do stuff around the neighborhood as well, cut lawns and things to pay for extra. " Carson explained as they wandered up the sidewalk. "Mum and Dad say any money we make ourselves is ours to spend on whatever we want."

Rodney stuck his free hand into his pocket, and felt the couple of loose dollars and the coins in there. "How bad's the garage look, again?"

"It's pretty bad," Carson grinned. "Couple of lost civilizations in there somewhere. Mum will want to do a yard sale at some point as well. It's that time of year."

"What, summer?" He was following Carson's lead down the sideway, still working away on the last of his milkshake. "We can work on that."

"Yep, I intend to. " Carson binned his milkshake cup in the next bin.

Just one more thing to keep sort-of busy with, but Rodney was going to take it for the opportunity it was. With more to fill in their days, relaxation time started to feel like it was worth something.

The book store when they got there was massive, and everywhere he looked there were hundreds, thousands of books bright and shiny new, their spines uncracked, pages unthumbed apparently all competing for his interest. Carson was obviously as much of a book fiend as he was because he could barely force himself to walk past the shelves.

"Oh..."Carson paused by the new titles. "I've heard of this one. It's meant to be good." He picked it up. "Speaker for the Dead. It's the sequel to Ender's Game. You ever read that?"

"No. Mum called it trash." Rodney shrugged as he eyed some of the 'new' titles. He wasn't sure what he was looking for.

"I've got it at home," Carson said looking mildly horrified at the thought of one of his favorite books being described as trash. "I might have to get this... I think you'd appreciate Ender's Game. Anyway, we were looking for a book on your car?"

"Yes. And then we can get back to this," Rodney said, still staring at the covers, as if that was going to tell him more.

The section to do with cars and manuals was difficult to find partly because they were looking in a pokey corner and it was actually a prominent display, which was probably logical considering they were the reading material of a lot of men. "Here we go," Carson said. "Oh hey, science section. I'll just be here."

Rodney caught himself in the middle of a laugh when he heard Carson say that. "Okay, sure -- yeah. I'll be trying to find my car."

It was weird, browsing through all the things his mother had disdained. He kept wondering if someone was going to start shouting about how useless it all was and that he was an idiot for wanting it. Part of the problem was that his mother was smart, intelligent and completely nuts. But she was clever enough to talk convincingly around every opinion, so much so you had to have an ego of pure titanium to even hold on to your own opinion. Most people ended up nodding sagely and agreeing with her even if they had started off opposing her viewpoint.

And mostly, it had crushed a lot of things he knew he was interested in. He liked the piano, and he was going to practice as much as he could on that. He'd always liked to take things apart, and he had a car that needed some serious taking apart. He ended up selecting a semi-generic Chevy manual that had a chapter on the Vega and the quirks that were specific to it.

Carson was deeply immersed in half reading a book on new advances in medicine and barely noticed him up to the point where he right next to him, when he almost comically startled. 

"Hi. Found what I was looking for. Two bucks. I've got enough to find something else." He waved it a little, pleased with the 1.99 on the back of it.

"Great, what else do you like? There are some good books around. Some we could get at the library though," Carson suggested.

"No, we're still going to the library. But, don't you ever want to own books, too?" He sort of had half a dream of someday having a whole room with nothing but all the books he liked.

"Oh yes, I just pick and choose otherwise I would be broke in a week," Carson replied with a shrug. "So I only buy the ones I definitely want. We should go look at one of the places we can get them second hand. We can get loads for a dollar at the right places. Or at yard sales."

Rodney looked down at the manual -- which he figured would be hard to come by -- and nodded. "Okay, then. Let me get this and then we'll go look for a used place."

The two of them ended up with one new book each and then as apparently used book stores worked on the principle that book lovers didn't like to walk far, it was only another couple of minutes walk to the next store. It was a small store, easy to walk past, but going inside was a little like disappearing into another dimension where walls were made of book, every surface was covered with them, some newish, some old and mold spotted, some with strange titles and esoteric interests.

"God I love this place. There's a little room upstairs too but you can hardly get up the stairs for books," Carson said in the hushed tones that seemed right to adopt in the presence of books.

"What's upstairs?" Whether it was interesting or not, Rodney was curious, and he felt less bad about fingering the spines of books that he passed, pulling one or two out to look at the covers.

"More books. I've got a feeling it's meant to be nonfiction upstairs," Carson said. "But I think the books migrate. Hmm, let's see what is in the science fiction and fantasy section."

He still had an eye for books with bright bindings, big or odd sizes, seeking those out more than the dark paper with white lettering that ran up the sides. He started to collect them at random from the shelves, things that caught his eyes -- big tall books, two that had been side by side. One of them had simply declared 'GNOMES' in black font on white binding, and another one beside it. There was a book with binding like a painting, sunset colors, and another with white and a skinny pale man holding a sword on the cover. There were more of those, funny titles, and a spear, and he finally sat down with his 'loot' to try to shuffle through what he could get and what was going to migrate back onto the shelf.

Carson came up after a while with what seemed like an armful. "What've you found? " he asked. "Is that a Michael Moorcock book?"

Rodney shuffled them into a stack. "Three of them, actually. This one looks like it has three books in it. And these have a lot of pictures, and I thought maybe I could read them to Grant. Are there prices for these books, or do you just take them up to the counter and hope?"

"It's usually written in pencil inside the cover. They don't run to stickers. I've got a whole series here for a dollar!" Carson was ecstatic about that. "David Eddings books, not tried him before. And then I got a couple of medical texts and a thriller."

"Oh..." Rodney flipped through the covers, and started to sort, organizing them from most costly -- the two big books with the pictures were 60 cents each, but he *wanted* them, and the rest of the pile came in cheap enough that he could get them all, odds and ends for 10 cents instead of 20 because the book had had coffee spilled on it and other problems. But it was the words that mattered more than how it looked, and the one that smelled like coffee might be extra appealing.

"Got enough?" Carson asked, grinning a little. "I've got a bit left if you need it."

"No, I should be all right. Tax included," Rodney decided, gathering them up into his arms again. "I like this place."

"One of my favorite places ever," Carson said. "Just don't tell Collin that, he thinks I'm enough of a nerd as it is."

Rodney snorted, still hugging books to his chest. "You're talking to a fellow book lover. Do your other siblings visit often? I'm almost scared to meet this Collin."

"Mum will give us warning, but they will be dropping in every now and then. But they usually give new arrivals time to settle some first. Whatever happens, they will be here for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It's like one long eating extravaganza."

"Huh. I'm, it'd be nice to have a normal sort of holiday." For years it had been *nothing*, and then it was that half holiday that was for Jeannie and for his stepfather, the moron, but not for him. "So you all eat from October right on through the New Year?"

"Pretty much," Carson agreed as they went to pay for their finds. "Mm, mum will cook a feast. I think she would've happy if I'd become a chef as well. We'll make everything you can possibly think of and then eat it all. We'll be drafted in. Then there will be decorating for Christmas and the lights saga. Always the lights saga. Lots of snow and usually a big snowball fight on Christmas Eve."

"The lights saga?" Rodney asked as he piled his books onto the counter and smiled at the woman at the till.

"Getting them to work properly and untangled," Carson answered. "Or a bulb will blow just when we got them on the tree."

"Ah, yeah. We did that. I'm pretty good at fixing those -- it's that they make them in a series." They'd always had a bizarrely pretty tree, from the times he could remember.

"You'll be the first person who can," Carson packed up his books carefully. "We better head back soon actually. Mum will want help with dinner."

"Library tomorrow, maybe?" The more books the better as far as Rodney was concerned, and he handed the woman his money with a grin once she'd tallied them up. Still not completely broke, either -- a whole five cents left. He pocketed it with a grin, and gathered the books up. 

"Library tomorrow," Carson agreed with a nod. "I think Grant will love his stories."

"The pictures looked pretty interesting. There were mechanical bits I saw, pulleys and things, so..." Rodney gestured with his elbow. "Can you grab my keys out of my pocket?"

Carson reached over and fumbled on his pocket. "Here we go," he said as they navigated their way out of the shop. "I've got 'em."

"Thanks. Pop the hatchback and we can head home. What else did you get?" he asked and just for a moment it felt like a perfect moment on a perfect day. He had experienced music, good food, fun that was interesting, the delight of new books and old bargain books to read and most surprising of all, he realized, he had a friend who smiled at him and who wanted to be with him. If that didn’t make it a perfect day, he didn’t know what would.

 

It had taken a while to get used to outside because the sky went on forever and that was new, but night times were easier because dark was familiar at least and Grant liked familiar, but he was also getting a definite taste for new as well. Tonight they were doing something new, and Rodney hadn't done this either, though Carson had, and that was a nice balance of old and new right there.

"We… we have to look towards the constellation of Perseus," Grant said as they settled with their flask of hot chocolate and snacks that had been packed for them. "Then there will be meteors. Many of them. Best night."

"Who's got my blanket and sleeping bag?" Carson asked. "It's warm now, but it gets colder as the night goes on."

"Right here." Rodney was setting it down, and Grant knew that they were supposed to treat it like the sofa, not the *bed*, which was different but made sense, too. Sofas were different kinds of sleeping, and it meant clothes on, which was good if it was getting colder because clothes kept toes and arms warm. Even the short sleeved shirts. 

"Best time will be in... 59 minutes," Grant offered. It was exciting. They were out away from city lights and he could count a lot more stars than he had when they had looked at the stars from the back yard. He looked, his memory swallowing the sky whole, finding the patterns of constellations and drawing pictures around them in his head. He had read all the astronomy books he could find before they came out, because then it meant he was prepared.

Then he *knew*, and he was going to see bolts of light pass through so many constellations, blowing mythology apart, and it was hard to not grin. Rodney was pouring out cups of cocoa, quick to close the thermos to keep heat in. "Here we go. This really is going to be beautiful." 

"Yeah." Carson settled back. "You're not cold, Grant?"

"No, no. It's warm enough." Shona had been telling him to think more about speaking and he tried to do it the best he could. He was learning a lot at the moment which was good, but sometimes hard when it was a lot of things all at once. "I am comfortable."

They'd been doing a lot of reading and writing, and it wasn't that he couldn't read -- Rodney and him had worked on that years ago -- but that there were things in words, meanings tucked into them, implications, and it left him feeling a little out of his league, but interested. History was neat, too, and Rodney still did math and science bits with him when he wanted to work through things in his comfort zone. "Good." Rodney passed a cup over to him, then to Carson, and settled in beside him on the sleeping bag, leaning back enough to look up. 

"I can see...Orion." Grant pointed up at the stars that were distinctive. "There is Rigel and Betelgeuse which is spelt strangely, and Bellatrix, Alnilam and Alniltak and they are all bits of Orion. There are others too."

“Okay, and what's beneath him?" Rodney pressed, and that was easy. That was Lepus, which made for a really big rabbit if they were all supposed to be on scale with each other.

"Oh, wait I know that one," Carson said. "Lepus, right?"

"Yes, Lepus. And there is Sirius,” Grant pointed out. "The Dog Star. I like dogs."

"I think that's a hint," Rodney mused, leaning shoulder to shoulder with Grant. It was nice. It wasn't close like they'd been before, but it was nice.

Rodney had explained quietly in the voice he used when he was very serious, in the tone he used when he was going to college. He had listened. He never wanted to lose Rodney. He knew what it felt like to be without him.

"Just a small one," Carson grinned. "Still haven't managed to tame a squirrel though, Grant."

"Lassoing it wasn't the best idea I've ever had," Rodney agreed. That had been fun, and Grant had gotten to learn all about rabies, and rabies shots, and safe interaction with wildlife. Rodney was always the first one to see squirrels now, and Grant could tell by the dirty look he gave them.

"It climbed on your head," he commented. It had made him laugh and then he had been so surprised by that he had nearly choked. 

"Aye, that it did.” Carson murmured.

At that point a meteor streaked across the sky.

It startled him, and then his eyes tracked it until it faded, and he was careful to keep his eyes open now, looking for the next one. "Wow, that's really clear."

There was a nice afterburn in the sky which took 9 seconds to fade. Grant was impressed by that. It made him feel good to see it.

"When I was a lot younger, sometimes Allan would take me out to do this, or Dad if he was around," Carson said. "We used to make up names for different types of shooting stars. You get short fine ones, or short blazing ones, or ones that cross across the whole sky..." He sounded like he was smiling. Grant liked Carson, he smiled a lot and he hadn't been horrible to either of them.

"Are there 'official' names for the different types of shooting stars?" Rodney asked, an open question for anyone who had an answer.

"I haven't read anything that has a classification," Grant said. Maybe he should've done that. That was what was meant to happen. His hand crept out to find Rodney's. That was okay. It was okay to hold hands where people couldn't see, because brothers were close but just not close like that, Carson had said. He was a little confused about Carson's brothers because Carson seemed to care for them, but they seemed from a lot of the stories to not care so much for Carson. He didn't want that to ever happen with Rodney.

"It's more fun to make up our own." A thin shooting star, brief and short-lived, bisected a constellation.

"Huh, *that* one was like an arrow," Rodney decided, squeezing Grant's fingers and taking a sip of his cocoa.

"Arrow types," Grant filed that away in his head. Making something up was exciting in its own way. 

"That one was like a tiny pip of a meteor," Carson said. Grant mentally wondered if it had skimmed the surface of the atmosphere or was a speck of dust. Figures and velocity calculations flowed through his head like a cooling balm and he wondered if Rodney were doing the same or calculating the orbit of stars and the distances between the suns that burned so far away.

Rodney was quiet about how his head worked, unless it was the two of them alone. He was watching the stars, and Grant looked up at the sky instead of watching Rodney more. "I wonder what else is out there. That we just don't have the ability to see yet. I was going to be taking Intro to Astrophysics this fall back at Northwestern."

"There could be people out there. Races like in the books we read. Or things we couldn't imagine," Carson said as more of the meteors streaked across the sky, bold and bright.

"The, the odds are that there are other people out there," Grant said. "But there is so much space there... only way to find them would be to..." he gestured with his hand in the air above him. "...short cut."

"We need the Enterprise. Only, with engine systems that aren't bullshit," Rodney decided, and Grant liked the sound of that. "Crystals. Seriously, *crystals* as part of any system is just..."

"Lithium doesn't make crystals. Dilithium cannot form," Grant said knowing that was true because lithium did not work that way. "Crystals are not too different to silicon chips. Silicon is quartz which can be crystalline and oscillate precisely which is how it works in computers and watches."

Carson chuckled. "I have no idea what you were saying there."

"That's okay, I look at x-rays and go cross-eyed," Rodney shrugged. "One day, though. There's so much out there. If we can even ever know about a tiny fraction..."

"What would you do? Would you travel to other worlds?" Carson asked, as more meteors streaked across the sky.

Grant wondered about that. He was visiting another world. He was facing the unknown every time he went outside. It made him feel sometimes like the people in the books he was allowed to read now. He liked them, they were all bright colors in his head.

"Once I get a feel for this one." Ah, that was good to hear. Not that he thought Rodney was going anywhere without him, but.

"I like this world," Grant said and meant it. "There are a lot of interesting things and nice things."

"Aye there is," Carson said softly and Grant thought he was looking at Rodney then. He wasn't sure why, but he felt the same, so there wasn't any reason to question it.

"Cocoa and evil squirrels and my car's oil change, and stars. Hey, look at that -- three of them." Sliding over the atmosphere, skidding at just the right angle.

"One for you, one for me and one for Carson." Grant liked that, liked the way Carson chuckled a little and reached over to give him one of his bars of chocolate. Right then, looking up at a limitless sky, chocolate in his hand, and Rodney there and happy as well, Grant wasn't sure if life could get any better than this.

He really didn't think that it could.

* * *

He knew things had been going too well for too long. The fact that Shona hadn't trusted him to get there and *stay* there, or to actually go to the therapist on his own and had driven him there herself was... telling, Rodney supposed.

If he was honest, he wouldn't have gone there. The whole concept was ludicrous, and he had homework he could be working on.

"So, Rodney, " his therapist who had introduced herself as 'Call me Diane' which was better than Dr LaCroix only by a very fine margin. "I'm interested in how you feel about the prospect of therapy."

"I have a pretty long list of things I'd rather be doing, starting with homework and ending with replacing a tire in the middle of a busy highway." He shifted, restless in the leather chair that squeaked every time it moved.

She smiled a little. "Why is that, Rodney?" she asked. 

"Because you're going to either make me talk or talk to me about what happened. Which is the whole reason why I'm here, and I'd just rather not."

"Maybe as a first step, you could tell me why you'd rather not?" the therapist asked.

"Because I don't like talking about it." He shrugged his shoulders at her. "I know it's fascinating for the social worker, and probably you, but not so much for me."

"Then let me give you a good reason," Diane said, as she leaned back. "This case will go to trial. You need to be in a position to express yours and Grant's side of things in a clear fashion without being overwhelmed, or becoming incoherent."

The implication was that Grant would most definitely do the latter.

"I'm not incoherent, and I'm not going to be overwhelmed," he countered simply. He'd done a good job with the police, and talking with them.

"Because you only scratched the surface of your emotions. I sincerely doubt that would be the end of it," she said. "However, let's take this one step at a time. Why don't you tell me something that you are enjoying at the moment. Tell me how something is different now?"

"That's not an easy area to whittle down," Rodney scoffed at her. "Where do I start? We're fed regularly. Grant has a room of his own, and I'm helping him prepare for his GED, which never seemed possible before. I've made friends with the Beckett's son, Carson. I like the house and the... environment we're living in. And I have weekly piano lessons again. I have a library card, and an allowance. I'm going back to school, just up the road, half time until we get the trial over with. Just two classes that run from 8-9."

"And you enjoy all of these activities?" she asked. "Or do you just find them astonishing?"

Astonishing. "I enjoy them, and maybe I find some of them astonishing. The Becketts have been... really good to us. And when I do things that aren't... behaving, I don't have to worry that I'm going to be hurt. We have a talk. About why I did it, why it shouldn't be done, and some better reactions I could have, and it's very..." He looked down at his hands. "Logical. I'm trying to not disappoint them, which I never cared about doing to my mother."

"Why didn't you care about that with your own mother, Rodney?" Diane asked and it actually didn't sound accusing which it had, sometimes, from the social worker.

"She didn't care about us. I never... okay, maybe I did. At one point. When I was little. Except I can't empirically prove it, because I always remember not-liking her. After our father 'disappeared' into the floor, I couldn't even talk near her. Whispering to Grant got me smacked across the mouth and told I was being bad. There was never any *real* pleasing her. Not in any long term way. There were just ways to mitigate her temper."

"So effectively you recognized you were in a situation of always trying to judge what the lesser of two evils could be?" Diane asked. "That must've been difficult."

"It was." Calling it 'difficult’ was an understatement. But the lesser of two evils was whatever would gain he and Grant the better treatment. More food, blankets, books, anything at all.

"Did you ever stop trying Rodney?" she asked thoughtfully. "In that sort of situation that is an option."

"I had to take care of Grant. You might think it's an option, but what kind of option is it? I don't like having my head hit against the wall, and I don't like going hungry. That's a really shitty non-option option."

Evidently she thought she knew otherwise. "Are you the oldest twin, Rodney? It's usually the eldest who looks after the younger twin."

"I don't know. You'd have to check our birth certificates. Grant was always... sweeter. He still is. I'm not. It seems natural that someone needs to take care of him. And after she let me out, it was more necessary. But I know that if he'd had the allergic reaction and not me, I'd, he would have done the same for me."

"Circumstances have obviously made you close," Diane commented. "How about the future for you both? Where do you see yourself going?

"College full time. Grant will, too. I think we'll stick around for undergrad, but I want to get at least one Doctorate -- engineering or physics. Both if I can find the funding."

"And then what is your ambition?" she asked. "Or have you considered that far yet."

"I'd like to get a job," Rodney deadpanned. "I don't know. *Something*."

"With your level of intelligence, Rodney, people will offer you positions," Diane assured him. "You are far in advance of most in all, except some social, conventions. Have you noticed any difficulties?"

Yes. Him and Grant and things he wanted to do with Carson, but wasn't going to even hint. "I don't know... I sometimes wonder if I know what's right and what's wrong. Given everything that happened. I've been using other people for cues. A lot."

"It must be difficult when you don't have a frame of reference," she said. "What would you say you had previously thought of as right and wrong?"

"I don't know." He rubbed at his face -- he'd tried to articulate it a couple of times, and each time had been with less and less success. "I can't entirely trust my past experiences as normal. I mean, they weren't. They. Weren't normal. But how do you know what normal is?"

"Mm. A good question. There are some therapists who would say there is no such thing, but the fact remains there are social conventions." Diane said again. "Social expectations of morality, which is why your mother is being prosecuted."

"Is that the only reason she's being prosecuted? Societal expectations?" It was flimsy, and it made it sound like she was only being prosecuted because the idea of what she'd done had offended someone. Never mind that it had derailed whatever his and Grant's lives were supposed to be.

"No. Tell me why you think she is being prosecuted Rodney?" she asked.

"I don't know. She murdered our father. She tortured us. We've been... less than animals to her for years. She hurt us, starved us, used us..."

"You recognize these acts as wrong, but do you feel them as wrong?" she asked.

"It felt wrong at the time and it still feels wrong." She was asking questions, but... why? It was just like with the social worker, it was all blah blah blah, with no connect.

He had more meaningful conversations with Carson. 

"That is good, Rodney. I think you are more in tune than you would believe. Have you made other friends?"

"Just Carson. There are people in my class, but they're also drunk morons and most of them are failing. If I felt in a more giving mood, I'd tutor a few of them, but I'm not. I like my professors, mostly. It's not Northwestern, but..."

"Do you find your classes interesting?" Diane queried. "Is it going to be sufficiently challenging for you?"

"It's undergrad." He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the tension that *everyone* seemed so concerned about his academics when he wasn't. "Look, I can manage my own brain just fine on my own. I know to ask my professors for their latest publications and any extra work they have and recommended readings. I was already doing it at Northwestern. It's a... ticket that has to be punched."

"I'm asking more about what it feels like. I am sure you are more than capable, but I am interested in your thoughts and feelings about it all," she said patiently. 

"No, you specifically asked if it's going to be challenging for me, which it *isn't*, but I don't expect to be challenged by anything but English classes until I get to higher levels, so, it's okay. It was the same at Northwestern. I'm happier to be with my brother again than I am to be in America, though, of course, the perfect combination would be American research funding *with* Grant."

She seemed to absorb that fact. "It is important that your brother is close, isn't it?"

"Yes. I drove all the way up here in a car I was holding together with spit and duct tape to get him out, and I had this elaborate plan to get him over the border. And yes, it was a bad idea, but I missed him. We've been together forever. He finishes my thoughts." 

"Does he start them as well?" she asked cryptically.

"That's an absolutely bizarre question," he scowled at her. "Of course he starts ideas. He's brilliant. He just doesn't articulate them well yet."

"I mean, how much of your time do you spend considering your brother and his needs?" Diane questioned.

"What, as a percentage?" Rodney shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. It sort of revolves around him."

He had the impression that was going down as a note. "Interesting. Well, let's have a few things you can work on yourself at home. I'd like you to find five things this week you have done for your own enjoyment, and from your own choice."

"Why?" He knew he sounded defensive, but it was a weird question, again. "What's the point? A couple of times a week, Carson and I go out and do... whatever. We hang out. Go to the arcade or the used book place, or the library, or the movies, oh, and there's my piano lesson, which is all mine. There, that's five."

"Because you need to establish your identity separate from Grant and his needs." She answered. "Try five *new* things Rodney."

How was he supposed to do that? The thought of trying new things alone was terrifying. "No, are you... I do a lot of things, and then I turn around and share with him. You can't expect me to not do that."

"Try it first," she asked. "Just for a week."

"I don't *want* to," he snapped back. "That's like asking me to not do things with Carson."

"I can't force you to do it, Rodney, but this resistance proves the point," Diane said gently.

"What point?" He definitely didn't like her, not now. "Look, you say 5 things like... it's easy. I don't know what to *do* that would fall under you concept of new, or even what there is to do. I got myself attacked by a squirrel earlier this summer, all on my own -- that's pretty new. And also got me a lecture."

"It doesn't have to be big things, Rodney," she said. "But a disproportionate amount of your energy focuses on Grant. You need to break your thought patterns so they are receptive to new things."

"Yes, but what do you mean by *new*? It's not like new things just fall out of the sky on your head."

"Anything. A new food, new place to walk, a set of clothes and so on." Diane sat back. "Rodney, I believe your progress has been truly impressive, however... think back. Your new experiences were suggested by others, weren't they? Think of this as the next step. Start small."

"Look, I come up with plenty of ideas on my own, and they're not always the best. Socially, not academically. I planned to run away with Grant, but forgot that he'd need medical care, and hadn't ever seen the sky. I thought lassoing a squirrel was a good idea. I thought telling Carson's girl-buddy that he had a crush on her was an obvious decision. If I find a new place to walk, I'm going to get myself mugged somehow."

"Then come up with the idea, and ask someone, rather than them asking you if it is something you want to do. It's a simple thing but powerful," his therapist said firmly. 

But it all went back to he didn't know what to try to come *up* with, and she didn't seem to understand that. So, he gave up and finally just nodded. Waste of time.

"All right then. Now is there anything you'd like to discuss or ask me, Rodney?" she asked.

"No." If there had been, all of his thoughts were gone in the face of that kind of obnoxious frustration.

"Then that's enough for our first session," Diane replied. "Well done. I know you really don't embrace the idea of therapy."

"I wonder what gave you that idea." He stood up, still frowning at her.

“Believe me Rodney, I am just trying to help you help yourself,” Diane replied, watching him as he stood.

"Yeah, well, I don't think you realize how much not-helping you're doing when I don't even know how to think of 'new' things." He was moving towards the door, though, and Mrs. Beckett would take him home and he could figure out what the hell to do.

She just smiled as he let himself out, and he couldn't help but think that his first instinct to ask Carson was probably missing the point entirely.

 

The problem was he'd had a great summer and Carson had allowed himself to believe that maybe things really were going to be better at school when he went back. All that had actually happened was that it felt worse.

He didn't moan or whine, no Beckett was allowed that luxury. Collin would be furious with him for being a wuss, and even Allan would be disappointed because they'd all toughed out the trials and tribulations of school without resorting to moaning.

He trudged home, miserable, and needing the time to pull himself together so he could present a happy face at home. He'd skipped grades, he was doing advanced options that made him stick out like a sore thumb and really, the consequences of that were obvious.

Even among the geeks and the brains of his school, he was a bloody target, younger than the rest of them, likely to finish up school before them, moving too fast for his own good. He was 15, after all, and in the 11th grade. Rodney said that was phenomenal, but Rodney had been 15 and starting his first year of college, while Carson was 15 and a half, and he shouldn't have been comparing their situations, but it was hard to not measure himself against Rodney’s capabilities and find himself wanting.

He swore they were getting rougher as well this year. He'd been made miserable before, but they’d never quite crossed the line to anything that was really physical. That was apparently changing, or he'd made the mistake to trying to fight back a little.

And then there was a problem of Madelyn and another reason why he didn't want to go home right now.

It wasn't that Madelyn was a problem in herself. It was just that she'd met Rodney, when they'd all run into each other over the summer, and Rodney had blurted out that Carson had told him all about her and that was sort of a hinky thing. She'd talked to him in school, and he was hoping that if he walked fast enough, he could catch up with her before she went home, except her walk home went in the other direction from his walk home.

He liked being friends with Maddie, because he didn’t have that many that he could afford to blow it, and he did like her but...it was complicated.

"Hey Maddie!" he called out spotting her slight frame among the crowds of other students.

"Carson, hi." She had a wide, genuine sort of smile, and Carson liked her smiles. "How was the rest of your day? I didn't see you after lunch."

He always felt himself grin back. "It was okay, how about you?"

"Decent. I think my history teacher's going to be boring this year, but we were spoiled with Mrs. Morrison last year." Her fingers were hooked into the straps of a book bag that seemed too big for her. "So, what're you doing heading this way? "

He looked down a little, trying to will himself not to blush. He couldn't lie very well, hide the truth, yes, like a champion, but lie, no. "I uh... well, I wanted to talk to you about that thing my foster brother said."

"What, uhm... Rodney? Well, you had that foster brother when you came to highschool who thought that you all secretly turned into mice at night, and told me about that, too. So the only reason you're worried is because...?" 

Shit, he'd miscalculated. He should've just pretended it was nothing instead of worrying about it. "I thought it might make you uncomfortable," he said generally.

"Oh." She cleared her throat slightly, and looked sideways at him. "I thought you might say because it was true."

And now he was a crimson blushing mess of embarrassment and he was silent for a moment, because his mouth had dried up. "Well um, maybe a wee bit true?" he said looking at her hopefully.

She was smiling. "It's about time, Carson. So. Maybe we could do dinner and a movie on Friday?"

He nearly tripped over his own feet in his surprise. "Really? Because... because I don't want to mess things up. Do you want to go out somewhere in particular?" Oh god, what was he meant to do? He was one step from literally flailing.

"If it doesn't work out, Carson, it's *okay*. We'll just... see. We're friends anyway, so it can't hurt. If it feels weird, we can't say we didn't try." She reached out, and cuffed him lightly on the shoulder, and that was familiar.

"I'm uh... I don't really know what to do, just warning you," he said a bit uselessly. "Any particular movie or shall we just see what's on?"

"I think we'll just go and see whatever’s playing?" She was all grins, and then leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"O... okay," Carson stammered and then beamed. He didn't know why he was so happy, but suddenly he was.

He was, because it was unexpected and he had *plans* for Friday all of a sudden, and it meant that he wouldn't be able to go to the movies randomly with Rodney, but Rodney would be all right with that. "Now, as much as I'd love to take you home to meet mum, I think you should get home before it starts to rain like it's been threatening. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Thanks, Maddie," he said and smiled at her again, waving a little foolishly as she headed off.

He almost tripped on a sidewalk crack, but it was hard to not *skip* home, so he settled for jumping a bit and then running, because he had a DATE.

 

Carson wasn't sure if he walked home or floated. His brain didn't record much of the journey at all because he had a date! A real date and all because Rodney had opened his mouth and spilled the fact that he liked Maddie. He had to say thank you for that at the very least.

It was the first time ever, and he knew that most boys had at *least* started doing that, but that they were usually in classes with girls their age, not older, and he *had* to tell Rodney.

It was nice to come home and see Rodney and Grant sitting in the living room, with books spread out like they belonged there.

"Hey Rodney! Hey Grant," he grinned. "How has your day been?"

Rodney and Grant's answers overlapped. "Good" and "horrifying" sounded out at once, and Rodney sighed, and stretched out on the floor. "You look like you're in a good mood. What happened?"

"You are a genius!" Carson said unable to keep in the news for even a minute. "Seriously, I'm sorry I freaked out about what you told Maddie because it worked!"

"What worked?” Rodney looked lost for a minute, and then he startled a little. "Wait, when I told her you liked her?"

"Yeah, that time," Carson bounced in and sat down. "I went up to her to do the whole, 'hope this hasn't made things weird' speech and kinda ended up admitting that yes, you had told the truth, and yeah, I liked her. End result, date on Friday!"

"Oh, uh. Date on Friday. Congratulations?" Rodney dropped his eyes, and looked over to where Grant was working through what seemed to be a long-answer question.

"Friday has a date." Grant said as he wrote steadily. “It is the 21st."

"Not that sort of date, Grant," Carson said used to that sort’ve literal comment by now.

"No, it's when two people go out to romantically spend time together," Rodney explained briefly. "Like, to dinner and a movie."

"Yes, yes, that's what we are doing," Carson said. "Where should we go? And what movie should we see? You've met Maddie..."

"I don't know." Rodney shrugged his shoulders. It felt a little frustrating, because Rodney was usually better at coming up with ideas than that. "Take her someplace she'll like."

That derailed Carson a little and he mentally replayed the last minute or so and realized that Rodney had actually said his day had been horrifying and he'd been going on about how great things were.

"I'm sorry, you've had a bad day?" he asked even though he really just wanted to talk about his good fortune.

Rodney gave another shrug. "Therapist sessions are for putting a road bump in my Tuesday," he muttered. "I don't know where you should take her. I'd say dinner and a movie. It's what they do in movies, and you're pretty good at it."

"Therapy didn't go well?" Carson said.

"Rodney says therapy is impossible," Grant put in doing the impossible of his own. He was staring at what he had written with a perplexed frown.

"Therapy is daft. I'm supposed to do five 'new' things on my own." He folded his arms over his chest, despite that he was still leaning on his elbows. "So. Have fun Friday."

Carson frowned a little, sensing some hostility. "Rodney... what's the deal? Have I annoyed you or something?"

"*We* were going to go to the movies Friday," Rodney pointed out, while he reached out to peer at Grant's piece of paper. "But hey, since I have to pull new activities out of my ass, this works out fine."

"Shit." Carson swore, guilt rising up inexorably. "Shit, sorry Rodney I..uh.. crap."

Now he felt like a complete bastard.

"No, no, it's fine. I'll just find something to do. I'm supposed to be going out and doing my own thing more than I do, anyway." Rodney sounded like he didn't believe it, and he didn't sound much like he meant it when he said 'it's fine'. "Go out, have fun."

"We'll do something at the weekend," he said promising that immediately. "I just... or I can ask Maddie if we can move the day. "

But it was such a fragile thing he didn't really want to risk changing something just in case.

"No, no, just forget it. It's fine. Whatever. You're supposed to want to date girls." Rodney leaned in, shoulder to shoulder with Grant, still reading his paragraph. "Huh." 

"Doesn't make sense," Grant said looking worried. "It… it.. contradictions and inaccuracies."

"What doesn't?" Rodney craned his head, not taking the paper away from Grant. "We're working on history."

"This bit. They both say they are right, but they cannot both be right," Grant said and Carson peered over at the information that seemed to be something about the Second World War.

"Grant, it is an interpretation of evidence," he said, glad for the distraction. "It is what one person believes is the truth against what another person believes is the truth."

"The Chinese and the Japanese have different opinions of what happened, and somewhere between the two are the facts." Rodney leaned in closer, and then twisted the book towards Carson. "Though I suspect the Chinese interpretation is closer to reality in this instance. Mostly, your essay's pretty... coherent."

"I don't like it," Grant said pushing the piece of paper away. "And you're annoyed with Carson and I don't like that either."

And that made Carson feel even worse than before. And what the hell did Rodney mean, 'You're supposed to want to date girls?'

Rodney groaned, and covered his face with his hands. "It's okay, Grant. I'll get over it. I'm mostly angry about therapy."

"Are you sure?" Carson asked. He shouldn't be this concerned over things but it was giving him a huge headache. He didn’t like conflict that much.

"Therapy is stupid," Grant commented. "Like this is."

He liked, them, after all. He liked Grant and Rodney, together and separately, which was like getting them with, or without, the hive-mind effect.

"I'm sure. She's a nice girl, and you, it's the normal thing to do. Dates."

Carson shrugged. "I've not really had one before," he admitted in a low voice. He glanced at Rodney. "Have you?"

"No." It was a bewildered sort of 'no', and Rodney was already looking at Grant's writing again.

"I was hoping to ask your advice," Carson said with a faint smile, trying to cheer Rodney up a little.

Grant was visibly sulking a little because his History essay was not cooperating the way he wanted. 

"So tell me again what the therapist said you have to do?" Carson said.

"I'm supposed to go do five new things that I can't turn around and..." Rodney waved one hand. "Relate it like I usually do. Which are both one, stupid and two, frustrating."

"They usually have some sort've thing in mind. What's it meant to do?" Carson asked glad they were away from the subject of his date. He'd have to do something special for Rodney to make up for ditching him on Friday night.

"I don't know. She wants to make sure I'm making decisions for myself or something." He finally pulled Grant's essay from him, and moved to pass it over to Carson. "Here, you give it a read. The only part of history I really enjoy is the weapons and other innovations that come out of it."

Carson picked it up, and began to read. The interesting thing was, Grant wrote a lot more fluidly than he spoke, though he was getting better at that now. There were a few quirks he recognized at Grants' 'tone' but it was just a question of style, and Grant was devastatingly logical about things and commented on patterns he was sure weren't mentioned in the texts. He had stalled over the conflicting information because he liked to deal in facts but...

"Grant, instead of concentrating on these accounts as 'facts' why don't you look at them as part of a pattern and write from that perspective?"

"Oh. Uh, huh..." Grant leaned up to take his paper back. "But they say they're facts."

"Each side does, yes," Rodney agreed. "Except, you said they're inconsistent. So they're not *really* facts. They're the rough estimate from that point of view." Rodney glanced up, like he was looking to Carson to back him up.

"History is a bit… woolly," Carson said remembering his own essays. "Eyewitness accounts are notoriously biased and uh... okay, except yours Grant, not everyone has a memory like yours."

"Oh." Grant frowned a little. "They can't remember everything?"

"No, not at all," Carson said. "I'm not as bad as most but I can't repeat what has happened like you can."

"I'm worse," Rodney admitted with less of the general anger he'd had before. "I just ask you, Grant."

"Oh." Grant frowned and picked up his pen again and started writing and Carson smiled.

"So have you thought of these new things you have to do then?" Carson asked, turning back to Rodney.

"Not really." Rodney shrugged, shifting his attention incrementally towards Carson again, now that Grant was back to work. "She said I should do things I want to do. That's all good and well, except I *like* including other people that I get along with."

"Did she say that you couldn't have other people along?" Carson asked. That seemed a bit harsh.

"Yeah. I pressed, and that was... basically what she said," Rodney said miserably. "Which is stupid. I've done alone. It's miserable and it's boring."

"Maybe you can work up to it slowly? I'd think she'd be pleased you are socializing," Carson said. "Besides there must be things you'd like to do?"

'Nothing that I can think of. I've pretty much been *doing* the things I like to do. And once Grant wants to go out places..." Taking Grant to the movies would be less 'trying to sneak into R rated movies', and more looking specifically for the younger-rated things, but he'd still *like* it. Once he got more used to the outside. The garden was pretty solidly now in Grant's list of spaces he liked.

It was good to watch and see it happening. He really was making remarkable progress, mainly due to his mum spending a lot of time with him.

"I think the idea is to make you think a little, and look for new things." He had some experience with what the therapists said. "You know, like when we went off to watch the stars, or the first time we tried going to the arcades. Or the whole Squirrel incident."

"Which was a bad idea, but. Also, *we*. I don’t know what new things to look for until I see them."

"Am I allowed to help at all?" Carson asked. Maybe he could discretely. Leave magazines around with things open on articles or something.

"Probably not, but I'm really drawing a blank. I mean, I did fine at college because everything was new. I did that. But I... mostly prefer mental adventures."

"Maybe that could be something," Carson said. "You can do that you know. That counts as something new. There are people who have a hobby of mental adventures. It's called Dungeons and Dragons. Jamie used to like it. He'd rope me in every now and then to play a game."

"Huh. Did he leave any of it here?" Rodney glanced at Grant, as if he was checking his level of interest in either the conversation or his sheet of paper.

"Somewhere in his room," Carson said. "We could look it out, and even if you don't like it, you'll have tried right? She didn't say you had to like it."

"Ah, true." He nudged Grant's shoulder. "Does that sound more interesting than history work?"

"Yes," Grant said decisively. He pushed the history essay to one side.

"You do realize I don't know much about it, but it can be fun,” Carson said.

"So if none of us know what it is, then no-one can tell us we're doing it wrong," Rodney pointed out reasonably. "Your mum said dinner's going to be a while. Do you have homework? Math? Science?"

"I did it earlier," Carson said. When he'd been hiding out from McGee who seemed to think going by his Initials was the way to be cool this year. He couldn't wait until that bugger got himself hit by a car or jailed for underage drinking. 

"Yeah? And you didn't have any problems with it, did you?"

"Not this time, but we're at the start of the year," Carson said. "I'm sure in a few weeks I'll be struggling."

Rodney snorted, and reached over to take the book from Grant. "Here, we'll find a way to make history more interesting after dinner."

Grant nodded and Carson decided that it had to be a good thing Grant learned to use his imagination more. And he hadn't played with his Cleric character for ages. Jamie had been a ranger, Collin, if they could get him to play had been the warrior, and he wasn't sure what Isobel had been. A Bard or something , and that left Mairi as mage. He wasn't sure what Rodney and Grant might go for, but it would be fun finding out.

And it was better than Rodney sulking about Carson's date on Friday.

 

It was sort of, he supposed, a fuck you to his therapist. Rodney had *wanted* to go to a movie with Carson, except Carson had a date, which would probably mean burgers, and the same theater he would've gone to. That pretty much ruled out that whole area for his entertainment, because the odds that he'd run into them was too high, and then Carson would get all self conscious, and Rodney wanted him to enjoy doing the 'normal' thing.

But it meant he needed to find a different part of town to hang out in.

Problem was, he didn't really know any parts of town except for the ones he had seen with Carson. So his plan consisted of getting in his now not too bad looking car and cruising the streets, and looking for places where he could go hang out in without having to show an ID. Because knowing Carson, he'd probably take his new girlfriend to the used bookstore, too, and Rodney wasn't going to think about that. He was going to think about himself and what he wanted.

"And what I want, I usually can't have," he told himself, slowing down when he came to a stoplight. Up ahead looked like a populated area, with people walking on the street, outdoor eating, maybe cafe-type places like he'd run into in Northwestern.

Maybe he should park up and take a look around. If nothing else it had to satisfy that stupid five things challenge from the therapist. That bugged him. He didn't like to think there were things he couldn't do. Choosing not to do them, that was something else, but not being able to do them, no. He *liked* sharing things, couldn't understand why you'd want to go and purposefully exclude the people who mattered most to you. But then again, there were things he couldn't do, period, full stop. He couldn't 'sleep' with Grant, or talk about it, or anything else, but the idea of doing that with women was pretty stomach churning. Maybe it was just him -- he and Grant didn't exactly talk about *that*, because Grant hadn't gotten out in the world like Rodney had, he reminded himself while he parked.

On the other hand, he was a teenager and he did get horny. Worst thing was, it seemed like it wasn't women doing it for him at the moment. He wasn't exactly sure what it was but he knew what it wasn't.

It wasn't boobs and, and if he thought too hard about the rest of it, he wasn't going to enjoy himself for the rest of the evening. It was better to stand up, straighten his jacket, and lock his car door. He was just going to see what he could get into and, worst case scenario, he'd end up people-watching in a place where he *wouldn't* find Carson.

He parked up and started wandering, hearing the thump of loud music from a couple of places, bright lights and people dressed up in glitz and glamour, tunic tops and big hair that looked tousled and backcombed.

The first couple of places wouldn't let him in and he was forced further away from the mainstream.

He was underage, which was the real problem, and sneaking into a club wasn't the same as sneaking into a barely matinee mid afternoon showing of Aliens, where the girl at the ticket counter knew they were underage and just didn't care. These were adults, and Rodney knew he looked young, but he'd washed and combed his hair and tried to look at mature as he could, same as he did when he went to college, but his ID... gave it all away. Even at Western Ontario, his classmates thought he was 18.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, and moved along with the crowd, past a couple of fancy restaurants.

There was a club off of the beaten track and the guy on the door looked like he didn't give a shit about anything. It wasn't exactly as classy as the other place, but he reckoned he stood a chance of getting in.

"Hey. What's your cover charge?" It seemed best to ask that, like he didn't have a thought that there was anything funny about him getting in.

"Five bucks," the man replied in a supremely bored tone of voice. He put his hand out for the money, obviously not caring about ID.

Fantastic. Rodney stuck the fiver in the man's hand, and moved to waltz right into the place's thumping music and weird lights.

He wasn't exactly sure what the appeal was. It was dark with flashing disco lights, crowded with the press of people and hazy with smoke. Alcohol in the shape of cocktails and wine seemed to be the way things were going.

He could probably get a drink, look around for a minute, and then slip back out. Kind of a waste of 5 bucks, but he wasn't really a dancer and it felt claustrophobic in there, too closed in. He skirted the edges of the dancers, edging up towards the bar.

When he got there, the woman leaning against the bar turned to him. "Hey there... you want to buy me a drink?" she purred. She had bright red lipstick and her hair was wild and quite possibly slicked with glitter - though that could be spill over from her eye shadow.

How she got glitter up into her hair from her eyes, he didn't know. Maybe she stood in front of the mirror and did an all over glittering of herself? Rodney threw her a smile, trying to feel wound up and mature, and flirty, because no-one dressed themselves up like that unless they were in theatre or looking for attention. "Maybe. What're you drinking?"

"White wine spritzer," she said smiling with a curve of her mouth that seemed predatory.

The predatory part of her smile made him cringe inside, but it seemed the normal thing to do, and he knew how much money he had for his night on the town. He caught the bartender's eyes, and nodded at the man. "And I'll take a Labatt."

The bartender was giving a look just short of raising his eyebrows but he didn't comment, just gave him the drinks.

"My name is Sindi," she supplied. "I haven't seen you here before."

"I'm new in town. I'm over at Western." He was still grinning, carefully, contrived, when he took a swig off of the beer.

"College guy huh?" She sipped at the drink. "I like intelligent guys. What you going to be? Lawyer? Doctor?"

"Scientist." Not as glamorous, but. Rodney took another swig off of his beer. "What do you do?"

"I'm an actress," she said, as if that should be obvious. She was most likely lying from the look of her. He didn’t like the way she was coming on to him, but then, she *was* coming on to him.

That was disturbing all by itself. Rodney lifted his eyebrows at the woman. "An actress, huh? What kind? TV, advertisements, or theatre?"

"This and that," she said evasively. "Auditioning for a movie this week. My agent says I'm a sure thing."

"Yeah? I'm sure you'll do great," Rodney smiled. "Really. What's the part?"

"Some sci-fi thing. I think there is a lot of running in *very* tight cat suits," she said, and stood up. "Do you think I would look good in one of those?"

Yeah, she looked good. Too, too good, and it made him wonder why she was in *that* dive, hitting on *him*. "Oh yeah. You definitely have the body for it."

She smiled at him as if he had just hit the jackpot. "I'm just going to... freshen up some. Back in a moment," she said making the act of sauntering away as provocative as possible.

That was... something else, and Rodney resituated himself into a more beer-centric position, swigging it. 

The bartender was looking at him for a long moment and leant forward. "Word of advice, kid, save yourself a whole lot of grief and be out of here when Sindi gets back," he offered.

"Why?" He was sort of ready to go with that vibe, though, because he was already reaching into his pocket for his wallet to pay for the drinks. 

"She's trouble, kid. You want to sleep with her, you could have it, but you'd have everything else too. She ain't exactly discriminating if you get my drift." The bartender said.

It took a minute, and Rodney stood up, offering his change. "Must be bad if everyone around here knows. Thanks for the uh, heads up."

"You're just fresh meat to her kid. Choice is yours," the bartender said with a shrug.

"Yeah, I've done the fresh meat thing. Not interested. Thanks." He just hated that he was going to be leaving so soon, but he could at least write it off as a new thing "Bought a lady a drink and got warned off from spending time with her because she's a cesspool."

The bartender nodded and he had to move then, get out of there before Sindi returned ready to infect him with god only knew what.

Shit. Well, he didn't *like* boobs, and it really wasn't his kind of place, but he wanted to be the type of guy who *did* fit into places like that. Normal types of things. Instead, he was beating a retreat to the door, walking as quickly as he could without running.

The night air was cool after the closeness of the club, and he was relieved more than anything. He wasn't that fond of beer and alcohol anyway, and he didn't stick around in case 'Sindi' came looking.

But, it hadn't taken much time. It was only 8:30, and the Becketts weren't expecting him home until 11. *Grant* wasn't expecting him home until 11. He'd already parked, so he could at least keep walking, looking for something more his speed. Less glittery.

He was trying to figure what his speed was though when he smelled the coffee. Coffee, now that was his speed, so he followed his nose into a different area.

It was across the street, with yellow lights inside and paper-sort of curtains over the tall glass windows. Coffee. He got closer, and he could see chairs and tables, a couple of sofas and a pile of books on one table, and maybe it was time to stop window-shopping. He could crash on a sofa, people watch, and call it a night.

Coffee he understood, books he understood. Better than clubs and alcohol. He made a decision and headed inside.

The air smelled like coffee, coffee and sweets, and he relaxed a little. He could spend another 5, get a really awesome coffee and some dessert thing and still not be broke, and maybe take one On the Road for Grant. But it was a nice place, and he soaked up the atmosphere first, before he wandered closer to squint at the menu on the wall.

There was an impressive amount of coffee types, and the food tended towards the sweet. Baked goods, cookies and pie. There was a nice looking cherry pie, some sort of Death by Chocolate dessert, and a fantastic array of muffins and Danishes.

And god, there was even a Grand piano in the corner where people were trying to persuade one of their group to play a song.

There was a girl, who was maybe his age, maybe a couple of years older, behind the counter, smiling at him, but he ignored her for a moment to decide -- did he want pie or a muffin? He wanted something sweet, but not too sweet, not that sweet that made the back of his throat ache. Muffins were good for that, and good coffee, oh god, there were so many coffee choices on the wall.

"First time?" the girl said. "How do you like your coffee? I could recommend a type if you like. Or you could just start working your way through the list."

She was pleasant without being over the top and that was good.

"Huh. I almost want to ask you 'what's good' except you're probably obliged to say that everything is good." Rodney lifted his eyebrows at her, already rummaging to pull his wallet out. "Uhm, I want one of those muffins, with the, is that cinnamon? Oh, do any of them have citrus in them? I'm deathly allergic to citrus."

"Those don't, but steer clear of the lemon slices, and the chocolate cookie cake has orange in it," she said gesturing to the offending plate as he served up one of the muffins. "Do you like your coffee black or white?"

"Uhm, somewhere in between, but strong." He wanted to keep away from the chocolate cookie cake, if that was the case.

"We have a new Kenyan roast in. Full flavor. I'll give you your own jug of cream so you can pour to suit," she smiled brightly. "Then you can decide which section of our intelligentsia you want to sit with."

"Intelligentsia?" He both asked it and absently corrected her. "Why, is this a university hangout? Doesn't seem close enough for those slobs."

"Not so far if you know the shortcuts,” she said. "Hope you can hold your own. Half the people that come in that door are driven off. Not so good for business but ensures a solid group of elitist regulars."

"As long as they're paying, I suppose it's good." Rodney lifted his eyebrows at her. "I'll have the Kenyan roast, and a good challenge that doesn't involve English students."

She smiled at him. "They're in the far corner, bleeding over to arts there. Musicians around the piano, sciences and math on this side. Management is thinking about putting in blackboards. The boss reckons they'd stay all day if they had that."

"And drink coffee the whole time," Rodney agreed while she poured him a cup, and he awkwardly offered over his money. "Do any of the musicians *play* the piano, or do they just decorate the area around it?"

"Sometimes," she smiled. "A few are actually good. Some are... . You a musician? I had you pegged as one for this side of the room." She gestured to the scientist’s side.

"A little of both. I think I'll just watch them tonight." He waited until she produced the cream before deciding that he'd probably creep over to the 'scientists' side to see what they were about.

"Go ahead. I'll introduce myself the next time you make it here," she said, leaning forward. "Watch out for Lewis, he thinks he's up for the next Nobel."

Then she turned to serve someone else.

The coffee smelled good, and the muffin had the promise of edibility, which he needed after wracking his nerves and swigging half a beer. Rodney took coffee mug and muffin over towards one of the sofas in the 'scientists' area.

"The fact is the Soviets are going to have the advantage now when it comes to Space exploration," one guy was saying. "Challenger knocked back the space program more than NASA are admitting, that's what I'm saying."

"Are you kidding me? They don't have the resources for a sustained program."

"Come on, look at the evidence," one of the girls pointed out. “What about Mir?"

"What, floating out there as a semi-functional piece? Sure, look at Mir. But then, look at the Soviet economy," Rodney commented as he settled into his chosen seat.

"They spent months up there. That's not semi-functional." the girl replied in response to his tossed in observations. "It performed its function; served as a base. The Soviets prioritize their space development, knowing it is the key area of exploration."

"Bullshit, the priorities should be on the atomic level, particle physics. That's been broken wide open."

"Bullshit right back at you, because that worked so well for Chernobyl, George," the girl said sarcastically.

"That's not the same as particle physics, not what I was talking about, *Michelle*"

Rodney lifted his eyebrows at both of them and took a sip of his coffee. "Technically, Rockall is a base, too. I just wouldn't call it a comfortable one, or even a *functional* one." Then, nervily, he offered, "I'm Rodney, if you'd like to insult me by name."

"New around here Rodney?" Michelle asked looking him over speculatively. “That’s George, Lewis and Liz."

Lewis was ignoring him as if he was beneath him somehow. Liz was following his lead, but George was smiling at him.

"Thank God, someone new . Tell me you're physics based, I can't seem to get these guys to see sense."

"He looks a bit young to be anything much of anything," Michelle said, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm brilliant," he told them, without any shame, "And I just transferred up to Western Ontario from Northwestern. Majoring in Physics, and bored out of my mind with it. I'm just biding my time until I get to the higher courses."

George sucked in a breath even as Lewis stirred, their Alpha geek responding to a challenge. 

"We're all brilliant here,” Lewis said with a confident drawl. “But we like a bit of evidence. Anyone can say they are a genius."

"I turned sixteen back in April, and I've already finished 39 credit hours." That, he supposed would either be sufficient for them or not. He had better proof that he was a genius, but he also wasn't going to bring it up unless he was asked.

"Right," Lewis said contriving to look superior. He reached out and Liz gave him pad and pen. "Then this shouldn't give you a problem."

He scribbled an equation down and passed it over with a smirk. "Unless you are one of those concept physicists who can't cope with math."

"Oh, please. This is a factor the effect of friction equation. I worked that out in highschool." He snapped his fingers, and reached for the pen with his right hand even while he broke off a part of the muffin with his left. Easy.

"Wow, Lewis, you might have a match," George commented sounding impressed and a little gleeful as Rodney scribbled the solution to the equation.

"He's right, it is easy," Lewis said leaning forward. “You want something tougher?"

"Sure. Hey, what do *you* do?" Rodney asked, passing the paper back to Lewis.

"Pure math," he replied in an arrogant tone. "The only real discipline."

"Physics, building blocks of the universe," George put in amiably.

"Theory schmeory," Michelle said, waving a diffident hand. "Engineering. I'm the anomaly in my classes."

"Biochemistry, " Liz said quietly.

Yeah, this... this was nice, Rodney decided as he waited for Lewis to come up with a real challenge. "Huh. You're all at Western Ontario?" That meant he'd run into George eventually, and he didn't seem like he was A) Drunk or B) Stupid.

"Yep," George said with that friendly grin. He was fairly nondescript in appearance with slightly messy brown hair, but with a disarming smile. "Hey, does that mean you're coming in full time?"

"In the spring, yeah. I'm just part time right now, because of some family stuff." And maybe, god willing, Grant might be going there in the spring. Well, that was probably too much to hope for. Maybe a quick summer class and then really attending in the fall. Rodney couldn't push Grant to be ready when he wasn't. He was picking things up amazingly fast

"Finally, I'll have some back up here," George said. "It's a tough life being a lone physicist, especially when Lewis' math groupies are trailing behind him."

Lewis scribbled a longer equation, and this one was tougher. He actually had to think a little. Not too *hard*, but he had to think, and look at the equation a little longer before he smugly turned the sheet around and scribbled the solution. "People have math groupies?"

"Some of us make math cool," Lewis said raising a dark eyebrow at him. He had a very striking appearance. Black hair, fine eyebrows, piercing green eyes. "Not bad, kid. I thought you were a physicist?"

"Hey, I think I'm being got at," George complained.

"There's no point in being *anything* if you can't back it up," Rodney snorted. "Physics takes math to test. It's not all high theory."

"Gotta have a theory to explain the math," George answered by way defending his ground. "Still, I could use a hand with the math side. I'm good at concepts."

"He's very good with concepts," Michelle pointed out. "Both of them are idiots when it comes to a practical application though."

"I haven't yet had much opportunity by way of practical application yet, but that's been a lack of *opportunity*, not a lack of willingness," Rodney declared.

"You'd sully your mathematician's pure and holy fingers with actual building?" Michelle asked, and then grabbed for him to plant a kiss on his cheek in a move that startled him. "My god, I think I love you!"

He laughed, and sat back, taking another sip of coffee. "I'm double majoring in engineering, and anyone who thinks you *should* get through that without building a few things is daft."

"There might even be babies," Michelle declared, and then clarified. "...robotic ones that look after themselves, though."

George laughed at that. "Gotta love that maternal streak."

"You don't want robotic babies that look after themselves. Then they start to raid the fridge by themselves, and the next thing you know they're welding the muffler shut by themselves, and suddenly you're in a twilight zone episode." But this, this was... nice. "So you all... are you up in the dorms, or what? Because the people in my classes right now are grade A idiots, and I didn't know where the intelligent people were hiding."

"Yeah, we're in there. Hiding out from the crazies. That's why we come out here,” George said. "That and the fact there's not enough room on campus for Lewis' ego."

"I'm not ashamed of being more intelligent than everyone I met," Lewis said in the unapologetic tone he recognized from himself. "You guys are tolerably smart."

"I'm tearing up over here," Michelle confided in Rodney. "The emotion... it gets me right here." She thumped herself on the chest.

"Touched. I can clearly see that you're touched," Rodney agreed. He could definitely spend the rest of the evening there, and while it didn't take care of the fact that he wanted to get *physical*, he could at least get *mental* and relax. Maybe this would satisfy his therapist as well, and at the end of the day that had been what this evening had been about.

 

Grant liked coffee, and Rodney had been talking about his new favorite place for weeks now. He went there a lot which was good because it made him happy or excitable when he came back with some idea that he had worked out or argued about with Lewis.

And today, because Maddie was not going out with Carson -- because she was doing something with her parents -- they were all going together for the first time. He was excited to be going.

He *liked* going places with Rodney and Carson and the Becketts, but just Rodney and Carson was better somehow. He liked the Becketts, liked them a lot. But he couldn't ever like anyone better than his brother, and his brother had wanted to share it. Had tried, bringing back muffins.

It was fun to be sitting in the back seat of the car too, wearing *two* seatbelts so that in the event of a crash he wouldn't go anywhere. 

"Are you sure that they'll want me there? I'm... younger than you guys," Carson said as they pulled into park. "I mean, not even at college, Rodney."

"Neither am I," Grant said. He was doing better at speaking, Shona said so.

"You're smart," Rodney dismissed. "I mean it, you'll be fine. They're just... sharp is all. It's not bad." Rodney seemed relaxed as he turned the car off. "Just be yourselves."

Grant wasn't sure he knew how to be anything else. Except his Role Playing character, who he had called Jansky because he liked the sound of the word. He liked that as a name. Jansky was a lot more confident and decisive than he was, so it was fun to pretend to be him when they tried their games.

"I'm not even sure that they'll be there. But! The coffee and the muffins will be. And the nice atmosphere. It's just luck that I ended up here." He got out, closed the door, waiting for Carson and Grant to get out too.

Carson got out, and then helped Grant out as well. It was a big place and the building were larger than he expected but it was okay because Carson and Rodney were staying close and he liked the openness of the sky now. It was full of things and in the summer he had liked to lie on the grass and look at the sky and see what shapes the clouds were and imagine them as fractals spinning infinitely into themselves. It was very soothing. And they had names and different types and he liked to see them and know what they meant and the patterns they made. 

Carson usually fell asleep if he came out and cloud watched with him. He seemed to be tired a lot of the time, which was strange because he had often done his homework before he came home. He wasn't sure what he was doing otherwise, but he did go out with Maddie a fair amount, or she came over and watched movies with them. She was nice, Grant thought. Carson smiled a lot when she was there, but sometimes Rodney was grumpy. But then Rodney did have moods sometimes that he didn't understand. They entered the coffee place and it smelled nice. He wanted one of the sweet special frothy coffees that Rodney had told him about and some of the cake. He wasn't going to be greedy, but he did like cake, so maybe he could have two pieces of cake. He wasn't sure why Carson seemed so nervous. There were people there of course, but Rodney was there, and Rodney would make sure that nothing would happen. He looked around. Someone was playing the piano and not very well. Maybe Rodney would play.

Rodney might play, if he encouraged it. And he might, because Rodney was looking at the menu this time, and gesturing both of them towards it. "It's all good. And when I say it's all good, I mean it."

"Can I have two cakes?" Grant asked trying not to be embarrassing. He didn't want to be embarrassing to Rodney. Rodney never said that he was, but Shona had very carefully explained it to him, and he knew it wasn't his fault but he didn't want to embarrass himself.

"And..and a caramel Macchiato?"

"That sounds sweet," Carson commented. "I'll just have a normal cappuccino, I think."

"I'll have the uh. That muffin there, and it hasn't been touched by citrus, has it? And a mocha." Rodney was all grins for the girl behind the counter, but he wasn't grinning like Carson did for Maddie. It was different, just happy. "Here, you guys want to claim a seat? Over there is where the hard science people are, and the musicians are around the piano."

"As if I would let any muffin you might eat get anywhere near it," she replied. "Mocha for you, cappuccino and a caramel Macchiato for your twin here."

"Oh and if you have a wee bit of that flapjack with the chocolate on it, I'll have that too," Carson put in.

"We're spending a bit today. Seeing as it's early. Hey, who's the loser on the piano?" Rodney asked, rummaging for his wallet.

"That's Chris," she answered. "I thought he was okay."

"R..Rodney is much better," Grant volunteered, absently memorizing how she made the drinks, with each move, each ingredient.

"Oh really? Kept that a bit quiet, Rodney," she said with a smile. "Although we all know how good you are at everything else."

"Genius," Rodney smirked. "Even if Lewis is trying to fight me for it. Here, go pick somewhere to sit and I'll carry everything over. This place is great."

Grant looked around, immediately noticing a good spot in a corner where he could see everything in the room, and not too far from the piano. He didn't ask because he knew Rodney would want to sit there, and Carson did what Rodney wanted so there was no need to ask, so he just went and sat down.

"Hey, they do have blackboards up," Carson said looking around. "That's a clever idea."

It was a nice place, Grant decided, looking around. The ceiling was low, and the walls were dark, and Grant liked that. It felt more like home, the old home, that way, and he kind of liked that. Just for the safety, not that he ever wanted to go back. Not ever.

"Here we go," Rodney declared when he came back with a funny wooden tray laden down with their order. "Grant, yours has a cookie sticking out of it."

He took it, grabbing at it, tasting the sweetness when he dipped a finger into it.

"Thank you, Rodney," Carson said and he blinked. Oh yes, he was meant to say thank you to Rodney. But that was weird because it felt a little like saying thank you to himself somehow.

"Thank you, Rodney."

Rodney laughed as he sat down. "Here, eat some of my muffin. It's really good. Carson, you want any?" Rodney broke off a piece that had icing on it, and Grant had thought that icing on a muffin made it a cupcake.

"Mmm, I have my flapjack thing here," Carson said. "So, any of your friends here?"

Grant was staring at the blackboards around them. There were some with chalk on there and he squinted to make them out. One was a poem which he had done for his English homework, and he saw complicated notes to the side of it like chaotic pests, and he looked more towards the ones with numbers.

That was not the normal math or physics. But it was interesting.

It was nice to look at. "Mmmm... Rodney scanned the place and shook his head. "That's all right. They can't live here. They might claim they do, but at some point, they have to sleep."

"Well, we are a wee bit early," Carson said relaxing. He smiled." Maybe you should play the piano. Awe another group of people. I know full well there's a recital out there with your name on it."

There was a Rodney Recital? Grant frowned, distracted a minute, his mind spinning possibility after possibility as he stared at the incomplete proof half done on the chalkboard and sipped at the sweet drink. He liked sweet things.

He liked sweet things, and he was thinking about standing up to finish the proof when Rodney took another sip and finally headed for the piano. "I think I will." 

Carson grinned even as he turned to face Rodney and Grant watched him. He liked it when Rodney played because he played the things that he couldn't reach inside of himself. 

"You want something?" the guy who the girl behind the counter had called Chris challenged Rodney. He was scribbling notations on some music. Grant wanted to tell him that it was the fifth beat that was wrong, but Shona and Lachlan told him that not everyone wanted to have their mistakes pointed out. He was meant to wait to see if it came up.

"To put the piano to better use than you are," Rodney said, pretty nicely for Rodney

"You're a math nerd, science geek or whatever," Chris said. "I'm working something out here."

Was that an opening? He was meant to use openings to helpfully tell people if things were wrong. "It's...it's the fifth beat that is wrong," he said trying to be helpful and smile at him. "You, you could drop it third and...and it will balance. If you want it to balance."

Maybe he didn't. People were complicated like that.

He heard the other guy snort and stand up, and Rodney just grinned. "Okay, you want to see if you can do better, *be* my guest."

"I think I will." And then Rodney was sitting down, and settling at the keys, getting himself familiar with the tuning.

"He does requests," Carson said loudly and grinned at Rodney. "Hmm, what shall we have first? What about that theme from Top Gun?"

Grant tilted his head a little. "That's a loud one." They'd liked the movie, having gone to see it with practically the rest of the world, but this time on the say so of a rare letter from Carson's brother, Collin.

"You and your hip popular music," Rodney smirked over his shoulder at Carson, but he threw himself into it, and Grant liked the sound, the loud and the depth of it.

It wasn't the same as the electric guitar version, less raw, but still with that power in it that made him think of the speed and planes in the sky, fast and slick and wonderful.

Went it was over, there was a spontaneous smattering of applause from the people around him. "Hey, you know that latest Madonna one? Papa don't Preach?" someone called out.

"Don't make him sing it," Carson called back.

Quality was ...was the cascades of notes he had heard Rodney practice the last week. "Play Rachmaninoff, Rodney," he said and belatedly remembered his redundant "please."

It was a hard piece, but it was like watching light on a waterfall, or the rush of numbers towards a solution. 

It fit, and Rodney loved the piece, and smiled at Grant. "See? He has taste." And it was sort of funny that they were the same face and he'd say that. But then Rodney bent into the keyboard, and slowly started the buildup. 

It was stunning and he liked the way Rodney's expression relaxed as he swung into the music and the way Carson leaned on his hand and just stared at his brother with a transfixed expression. He had never seen him look at Maddie like that, but then maybe it was a brother thing.

The music flowed in dramatic complicated patterns, and it stilled some of the constant swirling in his mind as Rodney played.

He liked the feel of the patterns, the sound of them, as much as he liked the feel of the chalk under his fingertips and the lines on the chalkboard that he was writing, and the patterns kept on long after the music had stopped because Rodney was pressing his coffee mug into Grant's hands. 

"Hey."

"I liked your playing," he said taking the coffee. That was the fact of the event, but Shona said that sometimes facts were not enough to express everything. He'd never been sure about that, but right now, for the first time, he noticed the gap between the fact of him 'liking' Rodney's music and what he actually felt about it.

"It was wonderful, Rodney,” Carson said enthusiastically. "Everyone was blown away."

Rodney laughed, lingering by Grant and the chalkboard. "Right, well. I'm *good* at it. I don't just make these claims and then not back them up."

Part of his mind was still working on the problem on the chalkboard, turning it into something so much more satisfying. 

"Hey Rodney! Branching out are you?" a girl's voice called out, and a new person came over and sat down without even asking. 

That had to be Michelle, she was the one who made things. Rodney had told him that.

"...wow, there are two of you. That's pretty cool," she said, looking at the both of them together.

"Michelle, this is my brother, Grant." Rodney never said that they were twins, because it was visually obvious that on some basic level they shared the same genetic codes. "Grant, this is Michelle. I just crushed a few of their pianists' hopes and dreams. Oh, and this is Carson, he's..." Rodney waved a hand. "Our foster brother."

"Hey, nice to meet you even if you are all guys, and you managed to find someone even younger than you are to bring with you, Rodney," Michelle said. 

"I'm only a year or so younger," Carson said sounding a little embarrassed. He had been doing that still thing Grant noticed him doing where he just faded out of people's attention, though Grant always knew where he was because he remembered.

"Just teasing," Michelle said with a sideways smirk. "George is getting our coffee. You see what Lewis was working on last night?" She gestured to a different chalkboard. "I think he was secretly hoping you would come in so he could argue it with you."

"Grant could probably correct it," Rodney told them all, gently nudging Grant towards the other chalkboard. "Also, I remembered that they turned the heat on in the dorms today, so I guessed you might be coming out because, hello, it's *warm* outside, what dumbass decided that it magically gets cold on a particular day of the year?"

"You got it," George said as he approached the table with their coffees. "I'm George, the slacker of this group, and generally uncool guy."

Grant tilted his head to look at him. He seemed nice looking, but then he wasn't that good at judging. He had soft brown hair, and dark eyes, and a face that filled with his smile. He was then distracted by the board, and it was much more interesting than the other scribble. He hadn't seen it in any of the books he had read, and it was interesting.

"So, you're inflicting a night with us on your brother and foster-brother, huh?" Michelle asked.

"I thought I should share. I'm not sure they'll want to come back, but the coffee's good," Rodney remarked, and Grant could hear quiet conversation, could hear Carson talking, finally, not fading away, and Grant hummed a little while he worked on the equation. It wasn't quite right. Well, it *was*, what was there was very well formed, but it wasn't finished, it was like a half-spoken sentence, and he was just guessing at the next half of it, but it was beautiful.

"McKay. I know you're good at math, but this is ridiculous, you have no idea what you're doing." And right there, in his *space*, behind him and in his ear...

"Hey, hey, Lewis, that's my brother!"

It made him startle and nearly fall over, because he didn't like people just being that close without warning, and he tried to turn and go back to Rodney at the same time because this was someone new.

"There's *two* of you?" Lewis said, and he had piercing green eyes and dark hair, and he was looking right at him in a way that felt like he was angry, and Grant backed away clutching at his piece of chalk.

"There is one of us," Grant clarified, and only a twin would understand why that distinction was important. Then he remembered his manners. "...Hello."

"Grant, this is Lewis, the math guy. Lewis, thanks for scaring the crap out of my brother." Rodney shifted over, gesturing for Grant to sit on the sofa beside him, and oh. *There* was where he'd left his cake. Both of them.

He decided to eat some cake so he could think, so he sat down and said. "hello, Math Guy," as politely as possible, and was a little surprised at Lewis' expression.

"Are you trying to be clever?” he asked, and Grant frowned.

"Not trying no,” he answered tilting his head a little. "I... I just thought it was unfinished and it could carry on in a lot of directions if you postulated math existing in more dimensions." He gestured a little hesitantly with his bit of cake. "The math wants to go further before it solves."

Rodney was smiling his proud smile, and took a sip of his coffee before he turned towards Lewis. "Grant knows his math. And *Carson* is going to be a doctor, though I suspect he'll be looking for a more prestigious school than where we are..." Though, that was funny because Grant knew that Charles Drake was a famous neurosurgeon, who only recently left the university and had founded an independent medical research center, but he only knew that because he'd read some of Lachlan's papers and pamphlets.

Liz who had come in quietly behind Lewis actually spoke up. "Someone who is interested in medicine?" she said. "Finally. I shall sit next to him and maybe he won't look down on my science as something inferior." She shot a knowing look at Lewis and sat next to Carson deliberately, and there was something going on there, but Grant wasn't completely sure what it was saying

People were nowhere as easy to solve as equations.

People were hard to understand, hard to read, and Grant preferred the relative quiet of his own mind and sitting with Rodney while he ate his cake. It was nice, the rhythm of conversation, just being *out* in a nice, comfortable space. With math.

He really wanted to get back to that.

He was aware of Rodney, Lewis and George talking and Michelle’s laughter. The soft lilt of Carson's voice talking with an equally quiet Liz, and he was listening but not really paying attention. He would do that later when he recalled it.

He wanted to write more, but he was eating his cake, which was really nice, and he didn't want to stop that either.

"Look, I get that it's new math and all fantastic," Michelle said. "But what can you *do* with it. You want to convince me you've got something good here then tell me how I can apply it."

"Right now, theoretical physics. When we can get engineering up to the same speed and find materials with better tensile strengths, *real* physics. You have to have the ideas before someone tries for following after it."

Possibly, he could eat cake *and* finish what he'd been doing.

Cakes made for the best thoughts. They were all sweet and rich like math, and he liked the taste of it in his mouth, and the taste of the other in his head.

"But, theoretical is useless until it becomes practical," Michelle said. "I mean look at us, we're students, in debt and geniuses... you see an imbalance with that equation? I sure do."

It was a good point, they worked hard to get the loose change together to get them movies and books and the fun things. Rodney always said that.

"We should... rob a bank?" Rodney suggested, and laughed when Michelle elbowed him. "One day hopefully we won't be in debt. I don't know about you, but I've got a scholarship. That's how I'm getting through. A lot of them."

"Not all of us have one of those," George said. "It's tight, man, I tell you. By the time you get books and all that, I'm lucky if I can afford the coffee." He grinned a little and Grant didn't like to think of him not having enough. Or any of them, because they were Rodney's friends which made them his automatically, and and...

"I, I, could get you some money?" he offered looking up at Rodney and his friends.

And Rodney looked at him, and cocked an eyebrow. "Grant, we don't have..."

"Oh, that just figures. It's always the well off that get the scholarshi--"

"Oh, yeah, our lives are so great, which is why we're in foster care and I've been making extra money by helping to clean the garage and mowing lawns, which will become shoveling snow once we get it, and is currently transitioning into Raking Leaves."

"I don't have the money yet, but... but I read the papers and I thought of a... thing," he waved his hands a little. "Which predicts share prices and, and when to sell. I used a hypothetical five dollars, and if I'd been able to use it I would have... $3681 now."

"When did you start reading about shares, Grant?" Carson asked.

"You... you showed me Allan’s books, and there was math and patterns, and it was interesting."

Rodney was all grins about it, though, and slurped off of the edge of his mug. "Banking. My god, Grant. *Banking*. That's just. That's fantastic."

"Are you serious?" Michelle asked leaning forward.

He nodded and grinned. He liked the thought it made people happy. "Yes. I... I wanted if we get a computer for Christmas like Carson hopes, to write a program and, and it could help. It's patterns and inversions and there are derivatives that are like clouds developing billowing up and evaporating quickly, and you have to catch them fast, but they make their own shapes and you can tell what weather is coming, and that works too for futures, and I can see patterns in it. There... there will be a building storm in computers. It will grow and grow and then it will break, but if you get out before that then, then there would be lots of money."

"That makes *no* sense to me, Grant," Rodney grinned. "Which means it's quite possibly dead on. Money's not my strong suit."

"You can say that again," Carson put in from the corner with a smile.

"Okay, is this a pipe dream, or is this something we can actually do?" George asked sitting up. "Because if I could not be racking up the debt just by eating, I'd be happy with that."

"I thought your parents had you set up?" Lewis asked, and George looked a little uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well, the firm Dad worked for went bust." he said, and that was some sort of answer.

Half an answer, but Grant wasn't sure what the next part of the sentence was, and Rodney never offered anything about their family to anyone. "If Grant says it would work, I believe him."

"How... I mean, can we even buy shares?" Carson asked. "How do we do that?"

"We’re not old enough," Rodney mused. "We could go through an intermediary. We could test it through Carson's parents, maybe? After the holidays?" The two of them could work on it together.

"My dad will make us risk our own capital," Carson said. "But he'll do it. He always says it's our money to blow as we want."

"Okay, so if we scrap together some spare cash, assuming we have some, we could get in on it?" George asked. "Because I might get given some for Christmas from relatives. I could really do without my parents worrying themselves sick over paying for me."

"We don't know if it will work," Lewis said. "I'd need to see the theory of it."

Grant could do it, get the theory down, but not on those chalkboards. He needed more space, a lot more space. "Right. But it's something to sort of shoot for in the distant... next three months," Rodney suggested.

"Three months or a decade working off debt? I can live with that," George said and smiled again. "You know Grant, you can come here any time with ideas like that."

And that was enough to make Grant smile and duck his head a little shyly, even as he beamed to himself. Rodney would be proud of him and that would be the thing that was worth most of all.

That Rodney would be and *was* proud of him.

 

He'd gotten into the rhythm of it, sort of. Going to therapy, blowing a chunk of time every Tuesday afternoon before he went home to talk with Grant and work on homework, the real stuff, and just settle his mind again. But Rodney had been feeling restless, because the social worker had told him that the trial started in a week, and he'd known it was coming, but there was knowing and then there was *knowing* the date and telling his professors that he had to go to court proceedings, and could he schedule to get his homework mailed to him, and here were the envelopes, and he'd drop them off, and oh god.

He was going to stand up and testify, and all Grant had had to do was sign his deposition from when he'd been in the hospital back at the end of April.

"So, Rodney, how do you feel about what is coming up in the next week," Diane asked as they settled in for their session.

"Nervous." He wasn't sure why he kept going, except that they were social worker mandated and the Becketts made sure he went. He hadn't seemed to work through... anything.

"Understandably so. What exactly are you feeling nervous about Rodney?" she asked again.

"That it's going to be out there. That it's going to be something that people are talking about. Carson said it was on the news, big, when everything... happened. And it's going to be out there again." And he liked his privacy.

It will be. There will most likely be media coverage," Diane admitted. "You don't like the thought of that?"

"No. Would you?" If she did, she was dafter than he'd ever given her credit for.

"No, I admit I wouldn't, but there are some who crave the limelight," she pointed out.

"Good for them. I don't want to get up there. I want to be left alone. I like where I am right now, just how things are." He had Grant and the Becketts and Carson and school and it was... nice. Stable.

"That's not going to happen, Rodney," Diane pointed out. "You will become a point of interest for the media. You need to be prepared for questions and some degree of invasion of your privacy. Do your friends know what happened to you?"

"No." He rolled his shoulders. "It's not something I really want to bring up. Grant's just gotten kind of comfortable going there. It's a safe space." Shona said that was important, that Grant slowly expand to other places.

"It is, however, you might want to consider the impact of your friends discovering it through the papers and TV, or from you giving them your version of events beforehand," she pointed out.

Maybe. Rodney rubbed at his forehead. "Okay. Uh, how do you even bring that up in conversation? I don't, I mean. Math, and arguing about classes, and finding out what teachers are morons, and who holds really good reviews, and who gives extra work, and the news, that's what we talk about. Normal things."

"You control the conversation. You tell them there is something you wish to talk about with them. You spoke to Carson about this, didn't you?" the therapist asked.

"Sort of. We've kind of had to talk about some of it. But there's a lot we... don't." Like Carson's little girlfriend, and her sweet, well meaning, stomach-turning attempt to get him to go on a double date with them with some friend of hers, and maybe that was *normal* but he'd lied about homework and begged off under 'another time', when he'd really meant 'when hell freezes over, and not even then. When Satan starts to sell shaved ices'.

"What do you feel that you can't discuss with Carson?" she asked and it was predictable that she would pick up on that hesitation.

"Sex. Anything, that kind of interpersonal. I don't know what he knows, but we don't talk about it. I don't... like talking about it." 

"Why is that, Rodney?" she asked in a gentle voice.

"Because he's normal, and I'm not, and I like being his friend." He paused, and then held up a hand, "Yes, and I know I'm implying that he wouldn't be my friend if he knew, but it's really, how do you explain that you don't want to date girls, but you've had sex with your mother?"

"I believe it would do you good to discuss things with him in more depth as he has proven a trustworthy confidant for you," Diane said, and she had no idea what secrets Carson was keeping for him. "Now, you mentioned you don't want to date girls... why is that, Rodney?"

"I'm not... attracted to them. They're sort of stomach-turning." He waved one hand a little. "I mean, not that you are, just, I've been hit on and it's, I don't want to be there. I'd rather be somewhere else."

"I see," Diane looked at him. "Rodney, do you feel attraction to anyone?"

Carson. Grant. Answers he couldn't give because he knew enough to maintain subterfuge about it because of the social worker. "Lewis," he answered, and it was still true.

"You feel that you are attracted to other boys?" the therapist said, looking at him. "What have you experienced with regard to this?"

Sex with Grant that he wasn't allowed to talk about. He was trying to weigh what she'd say. "Some. Stuff. It's not like I really have opportunity."

"But you would like to?" she questioned closely, and he had the feeling he was treading on some very thin ice there.

He'd kind of hoped that wasn't what therapy was supposed to be about, scaring the hell out of him and making him tense. "Maybe. Why?"

"It is not unusual for people who have been sexually abused to either withdraw from sex completely, or become promiscuous as they feel that they can only connect to a conception of love through physical contact," Diane explained. "Do you believe you have adopted either of those strategies?"

Oh, okay, that sounded more, Rodney didn't know, therapy-ish. "I wouldn't know where to start if I wanted to be promiscuous. I tried sneaking into a bar, but it wasn't my thing. I'm not that person."

She nodded. "How do you believe Lewis would react if you made your interest in him known?" she asked.

"I don't know. I'm not going to, unless I knew he might…you know…" Rodney shrugged his shoulders. "I don't want to... inflict myself on anyone. And he's a decent friend, for a pure maths guy."

"Is this friendship more important to you than establishing a relationship with him?" Diane queried.

If she was asking about Carson, definitely yes. He didn't want to mess that up.

"Yes. It is. I don't... need that. I need friends more. I never used to have friends." And he'd had plenty of sex, strange, stomach turning sex, and comfort with his brother.

He wasn't usually observant about body language but he was sure he saw her relax just a little as if he had given a right answer. "You did well by meeting new people," she said. "Back to the issue of letting them know, do you believe they will discover your past if you do not tell them?"

"When the Becketts took us in, Carson said we'd been all over the news. So, yeah. I mean, we just lived in Southwold, and we're in London now. That's hardly any distance." 

"Then why do you not want to tell the story on your terms?" she asked again.

"I don't know how to start," Rodney reiterated, and hadn’t he said that already?

"And I am challenging you to try and find a hypothetical way of starting,” she pressed. "Imagine that I am ... Carson for example. How did you start the discussion with him?"

"I didn't. It was more 'Hi, oh, yeah, we're the kids from the cellar, mmhm, hey, your mum makes soup, soup's pretty good, yes, Grant likes crayons' and that was it."

"And he took that well?"

Another obvious question but Carson was a sort've special case. He knew that much.

"Yeah. He did." Rodney shrugged his shoulders. "Carson's used to it. Lots of foster kids in the house."

"So now imagine how you use or adopt that approach for someone like Lewis for example," Diane suggested.

"I'd say..." He crossed his legs, trying to shake off the restless feeling. "I'd say that since the trial's coming up, I thought I should mention it... and then I'd explain a little, and I don't know what his reaction will be."

"I would imagine he might say, what trial?" Diane responded.

"And then I could maybe just reference the TV coverage it got when it all happened." But long term, he had to wonder how it would go. "Do you really think that bringing this *up* is better than... not?"

"It is my experience that more friendships and relationships have been lost over a perceived lack of trust than the actual knowledge itself." She looked at him seriously. "Rodney, if your friends are the type to judge you on things that were out of your control, then are they genuinely your friends?"

".... Probably not, but it feels good right now." He supposed he *should* tell them. Friday, because Carson, surprise surprise, was going out with Maddie again. 

"Your mother will most likely court the media to present herself in a favorable light as she has little left to lose," Diane said. "I believe you need to address this. It will help you immensely during the trial to know there are people who know the truth and who support you, regardless of whatever your mother might say.

"I'm not sure what favorable light she's got left. I mean, what, that she didn't outright kill us? Whoop-dee-doo. It's a miracle we still have all of our limbs." But, it would help, if they meant it.

"I want that to be your... homework for this week," Diane instructed as she made a note. "Either to discuss it with your friends, or ensure that you have one person who knows everything and accepts that before you have to face your mother in the trial. I leave the choice of person to you. It could be the Becketts, your friends, the social worker..."

"Can I just say right here that I really don't like her?" Rodney sat forwards a little. "She's always looking at me like she's expecting me to lunge forwards and beat her with a table leg, which is ridiculous because the Becketts have nice furniture, firstly, secondly, it would take a lot of effort, and thirdly, I'm much more likely to put salt in her tea and call it a day if I wanted to do anything at all to her."

Diane smiled a bit. "Rodney, I suspect she has had experiences with children from backgrounds less severe than your own who might well have lunged forward and tried to beat her with a table leg. As far as effects, you and Grant are remarkably well balanced considering the level of deprivation you have experienced, which I attribute to your unique bond as brothers."

"He's my mirror image. Oh, and you'd be proud of this -- he's getting his own interests. Not physics, but *banking* math. That kind of thing. I'd sort of want him to go into physics, so we could work together, except, I'm sort of perversely happy that he's got his... niche." Rodney spread his hands when he said that.

"That's very positive Rodney," Diane agreed. "Why don't you tell me a little more about that, hmm?"

And somehow talking about Grant was easy even when talking about his own fears and problems seemed insurmountable. And maybe some of the advice for the mirror image of himself would rub off indirectly, he wasn't sure, but either way he relieved to not think about the trial just for a little while.

Focusing on Grant had always been easier.

 

He wasn't in his usual mood when he rolled into the coffee shop and ordered a coffee crumb-covered muffin and a plain black coffee, cream yes, half the usual sugar, thanks, and headed distractedly over to where George and Liz were already sitting.

"Hey, no Grant and Carson tonight?" Liz asked. Rodney was pretty sure the most she talked to anyone was to Carson. He guessed that was because they could get a bit math and physics obsessed from time to time.

"Take a load off, Rodney," George said. "I hope Grant is working on the ‘Bail the poor Student out of debt' Plan."

"Grant took his GED exam this morning, and is sleeping because he didn't sleep last night. Nerves got to him," Rodney offered as he sat down in a chair that he usually thought was actively trying to swallow him whole.

"He do okay?" George asked. "I mean, I know he should but he didn't freak out with the nerves did he?"

Carson had given Grant his lucky socks for exams, explaining seriously that as long as he had them on -- and really, who was going to lose socks in the middle of an exam? -- he would not panic and the best answers would find their way into his mind, and then down through his hand and onto the page.

Rather amazingly it seemed to work. Grant loved his lucky socks.

"No, he had Carson's lucky socks." Talisman-things seemed to work, and Grant had still been wearing them when he'd crawled into bed with every stuffed toy he could get his hands on, passing out on his stomach. Rodney had hung around a little, made sure he was good and asleep, before he'd come out for the night. "It's been pretty stressful, uh, with the trial coming up."

George frowned a bit. "Trial?” he asked glancing at Rodney looking for answers. "What trial?"

"First I've heard of it,” Liz added waiting for him to go on.

"What trial? Program, drugs, what?" Oh, there was Lewis, sitting down on the end of the sofa nearest Rodney, and Rodney reached for his coffee cup to cling onto for support.

"Right, well. We're in foster care, with Carson and his parents. Our mother's going on trial Tuesday. She wanted a quick trial, and her lawyer's pressed for it, and I don't know why she didn't just plead guilty and get it done with, but." 

George looked at him. "Well, you introduced Carson as your foster-brother but I didn't know it was happening now. Thought you'd been with him for some time."

"You're very close to him," Liz put in with a smile, but it was Lewis who was fixing him with a focused gaze.

"You're bringing this up for a reason, aren't you?" he said.

"... Yeah." He took another swallow of his coffee. "It was all over the news back in April and into May. It's going to be all over the news again, and I thought you should maybe hear it from me instead of seeing it on TV." And if it went to hell, he might beat his *therapist* with a table leg. Or at least threaten it. 

"April, May..." George frowned a little but strangely it was Liz who got there first.

"Oh my God. ...oh my god Rodney, you're joking, aren't you? The Sons in the Cellar? Boys in the Basement? That was *you*?"

"Oh, are you kidding? They called us Boys in the Basement and Sons in the Cellar?" He choked on his coffee a little. "Who needs that much alliteration?"

"Well the newsies, obviously," George said looking stunned, and exhaled loudly. "Wow. Okay, that's floored me."

Lewis was silent, watching him with that strange aloof aura he adopted.

Rodney took another sip of his coffee, trying to not think about Lewis's silence. "Yeah, well. That's Grant and me. I was, I was the driver, you know, crossed the border, broke into the house to get Grant out. I'm testifying Wednesday and Thursday. Grant has a deposition they're submitting. We're probably going to be scarce for a while. Grant will be, I'm not sure what I'll do."

"That's why Grant is a bit, uh..." George shrugged a little. "You know...?"

"George!" Liz poked at him. 

Lewis folded his arms. "So, why are you telling me this?" he said, in a cold suspicious tone. "Am I meant to be impressed?"

The hell. "What? No, I just, I wanted it out because I'm going to be testifying and I didn't want to have to explain *then*," Rodney snapped, clutching hard to his mug.

"Lewis..." George said warningly. "Jesus, you can be such a prick."

"Rodney does good math. That's the only important thing," Lewis said folding his arms. "He's not an idiot, but... displays of melodrama -- there's nothing worse than attention seeking." He sounded insufferably smug, and George looked horrified, but it was Liz who was furious.

Quiet, shy Liz, who barely said hello, turned on Lewis, and slapped him around the face. "You don't have any idea what you are talking about!" she hissed. "Shut the fuck up, Lewis."

And it was stupid, but he felt his throat tightening up, and he'd never thought much past the opening line and what to say to start things out. "I only said anything because my therapist suggested it. Just, just forget it, forget it." He was a good three steps from abandoning his coffee, and running out with his muffin, and just never coming back.

"Hey," George said, looking a little alarmed, as Lewis got up and went to stalk off, and Liz said "excuse me a moment, " and followed him.

"Hey, Rodney... it's okay man, seriously. Lewis is a self-centered bastard sometimes and he knows it. You just haven't had him blow up at you before, because he respects you. He doesn’t deal well with the limelight shifting away if you know what I mean."

Rodney shifted, sank deeper into the chair he'd claimed, and tried to just focus. It was one of those odd things, where he was afraid if he opened his mouth he wasn't sure what was going to come out. "The hell. I shouldn't have said anything. I told her I shouldn't have."

"Look, not mine to tell, but you're not the only one here with... secrets," George said with a shrug, glancing after Liz. "Lewis has an ego like a singularity. He sees someone else getting attention he's... well... He reacts like that. Always has, it’s not about you."

Rodney rubbed at his face, and took another sip of coffee. "I don't want attention. I just wanted to... pre-empt it."

"It'll be fine,” George promised. "I'm not going to freak out about it, if that’s what you're worried about. C'mon, you’re our buddy."

"I'd rather just be left alone, that no-one knew." He shrugged his shoulders, sneaking a look at George. Right, he didn't seem angry. Michelle wasn't there, but he could see her reacting decently-ish.

"Look, here's the thing," George said a little awkwardly. "I don't know diddly about this sort've stuff. I'm at home with the whole manly not talking about feelings thing. Not to say that if you want to talk about it... shit, I don't know Rodney. I won't mention it, if you don't, and I will if you do."

"I'd really prefer to not talk about it." He managed a sort of smile, and sat up a little. "It's just that the social worker warned that there will be photos. There's no gag order. So. It's going to be a circus, she said."

"Yeah, well, in a circus you can be one of the clowns or the ringmaster right?" George said pragmatically. 

It was a good point.

"Yeah, but this is all... sort of out of my hands. I say my piece, and then... Whatever happens." He shrugged his shoulders, and reached forwards to grab his muffin. And fuck, his hands were shaking.

"Hey." George patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Seriously. It's okay." He was hesitant but genuine. "Shitty things happen to good people, you know? It's not like the movies where the bad guys are the ones having nasty things happen."

"We'll be lucky if she gets 20 years. I know... it'll be mostly okay." He leaned, looking towards the door. "I should probably go. Lewis left his notebook here, so I'm guessing he'll be back."

"C'mon Rodney, don't let him run you off. I've seen this happen a few times. Liz kicks his butt, he comes back and pretty much pretends nothing happened," George assured him. "And Liz...probably understands the most."

"Why?" He still wanted to leave, but he supposed that if Lewis started up again, he could leave then. Just, more of a running away than a strategic retreat if it came to that.

"Not really sure." George looked uncomfortable. "I think she might have some firsthand experience. "

And that was such a broad swath of possibilities. But Rodney nodded. "Okay." Because weirdly, whatever it was, would be easier to wrap his head around than supposedly simple things like dating. "So. I think Grant passed his test and he'll probably be starting classes in January. Just one or two until he gets his bearings. He wants to take *accounting*."

"Accounting?" George stared a bit. "Seriously? With his math skills?"

"Just to start out, yeah. Just to see what it is, I think." Rodney shrugged, and he was glad of the change of topics. "But yeah. Finances."

"Wow, from what I've seen he'll get that under wraps pretty quickly."

"Get what?" Michelle said flopping down rather dramatically next to Rodney. "Coffee... thank god. This has been a stupid day. Where's Liz and Lewis, the dynamic duo?"

"Out." Rodney waved his hand, and wondered where they'd gone if she didn't see them coming in. On the other hand, he wasn't inclined to ask. "They'll be back."

"Oh right," Michelle said. "There weren’t any almond cookies left. I like almond cookies."

"You don't say," George replied and then added. "Liz is taking Lewis down a peg or two."

"Really? And I missed it? Did she swear?" Michelle leaned forward. "What was it about this time?"

"Yeah, this was something I never wanted to say once, never mind twice," Rodney sighed at George, clutching more tightly to his mug. "Liz slapped Lewis after he said I was attention seeking, after I decided to tell everyone that, *since* the trial is starting on Tuesday, I'm going to be scarce, because Grant and I were raised in a cellar."

He could see Michelle run it through her mind and assemble the pieces in the right order. She glanced at George who nodded and then back to Rodney. "Fucking hell, Rodney....You need help on payback? I aced out on high yield explosives."

It caught him off guard, made him laugh when he wasn't expecting it. "Uh, no, Lewis doesn't need to be blown up, but uh, thanks. Thanks."

"That's a shame... I've been itching to build some sort of incendiary device. Hey, maybe we should work on something for the next big fireworks display," Michelle said and gestured expansively. "It's an open offer. You want someone booby trapped, I'll make it happen."

"Thanks. I'm pretty good for that, though." And he could move on. He could shove the conversation forward and maybe it'd be okay.

It turned out to be better than he thought. George was oddly comforting, Michelle inventively destructive, Lewis and Liz had come back and behaved almost exactly how George had predicted.

Normal, and Rodney appreciated that, the normalness, and it felt like he'd only distantly brought the subject up, maybe weeks before. It was funny, feeling that, but by the time the shop had closed, Rodney had gotten another cup of coffee and split a decadent sort of cake with Michelle and Liz. The rest of them disappeared in their usual quick order, while Lewis and Rodney sort of lingered.

"So."

Lewis looked at him as the place emptied out. "So," he countered and then sipped his last coffee. "Liz says I'm meant to apologize. I don't apologize for things. "

"Okay. Don't apologize," Rodney shrugged. "Just, I didn't bring it up because of attention or whatever the hell you think."

Lewis put his mug down. "I'm used to people doing that. My brother has done that all my life because I'm the smart one. So-called friends do it when they think it's a way to steal back the limelight. I was so... pissed off when I thought you were doing it, I might've over reacted. A bit. Experience and logic told me I was right though."

"I spend a lot of time not listening to my experience. And we apparently have different logic. I just did what my therapist suggested I should. I don't have expectations one way or another. I just wanted it out there."

Lewis glanced at him. "Yeah well. I'm an arrogant bastard sometimes. You will be as well. It comes with the territory of being a whole lot smarter than 99.99% of the population."

Rodney laughed a little, and finished off his cup, which was good because the girl behind the counter was giving them seriously dirty looks. He started to stand up. "I'm still finding my footing. I'll get there."

Lewis stood as well. "I'm serious, Rodney. You remember that one fact and the rest of life is easy. You know you're smarter than everyone else...except maybe me." He gave one of his smiles that made him breathtakingly attractive. Rock star or movie star, instead of genius.

"I can tell you you’re wrong, but how about I weave it into my Nobel Prize acceptance speech?" Rodney offered, moving to set his cup on the 'dirty' tray near the kitchen area. "To my dear old friend Lewis Stark -- Hi, got here first."

"You bastard," Lewis grinned slowly. “You gotta stick around, I've got no one else here to challenge me."

"You're, what, Junior? Year and a half left to go? I'll still be here. We might be at the same graduation ceremony." After that, neither of them knew. Lewis was probably going to go off and do big Math things. "Don't let George get lazy next week."

"He irritates the fuck out of me sometimes," Lewis said in a moment of uncharacteristic openness. "He's better than he makes out. Brilliant in flashes, but he never does anything with it.""

"Maybe he will one day. Maybe he won't. Maybe, maybe we'll hear from him in a few years, and find out that he's up here, teaching. I want to get out of here so badly. The funding's better in America, and the willingness to try something just because it exists." Rodney waited for Lewis to catch up with him, while he fished in his own pockets for his keys before he pushed the door open.

"Trust me, you'll get any place you want," Lewis replied. "I'm here now but I expect to move on . Not sure where yet. Wherever my father decides, I suspect, unless we really do make a fortune from Grant's project."

"Yeah, well. Cross your fingers, we can see what happens if the Becketts actually get the computer. Mister Beckett's been talking about a Commodore. Carson's pretty excited. Grant's beside himself." Grant also wanted to meet Santa, and the Easter bunny, but he wasn't going to say that.

They stepped outside, walking towards their cars. "I bet." He was silent again. "Liz tells me that you like me. I miss that sort of thing."

He startled a little, and pushed down the stomach knotted feeling that he might very well have to explode Liz. "I, uh. I'm kind of a mess about things. Not sure how to go, uh. About it."

"Can't say I really know what to do with that information either. " Lewis said. "I'm pretty sure I like girls. On the other hand I have no empirical evidence to work from."

"With girls?" Rodney was shocked, and jingled his keys a little. "Even Carson's, well, I caught him with his hand down Maddie's pants, and believe me, that was more than I wanted to see."

"No, you idiot, with *guys*," Lewis said as if he was explaining an equation.

"Oh. Wow, I was worried about you for a second, because if sweet smiling Carson can, and you couldn't, then the world was a more screwed up place than I've anticipated. No, the uh, guys thing. If you ever..." There had to be a right way to phrase it without tripping up. "If you're ever interested, let me know. No strings, no... None of that. If you're never interested, I'm completely willing to uh, forget this conversation unless you bring it up."

"Rodney..." Lewis exhaled. "What do you think I’ve been doing?"

"Oh." Oh, that was a relief, and Rodney twisted, looking at Lewis a little better. "I'm not good at the subtle thing. So, uh..." A kiss, just a kiss to start.

Lewis tugged him into a shadowed area. "Experimental, Rodney. "

And he was there in his personal space.

Close, and in a dark area, and that was bizarrely comfortable for him, Rodney noted when he leaned into Lewis, just an easy motion, reaching for his shoulders, moving to kiss him. Lewis was hours after a shave, and there was a little stubble.

It was definitely doing it for him, and he wouldn't have known this was Lewis experimenting because he kissed in the same way that he did everything, full on and intense.

No hesitation, just, boom, there and definitely concentrating, and Rodney relaxed into it, letting himself relax into it when he opened his mouth and let his tongue slide out to trace Lewis's lips.

The other student was nothing if not thorough as if he really was testing all aspects of the situation. "Mmm," he said as he pulled back. "Not bad."

Knowing Lewis, he probably *was* testing it. Rodney felt himself grinning despite himself. "'Not bad' -- what is that, on a scale of enjoyment?"

"Numerically, I'd say a seven out of ten," Lewis said with a half smile. "Enough results to warrant further exploration."

"Can we schedule this for, say, tomorrow? I'm already breaking curfew, and I don't want to worry the Becketts." But that, that sounded really good. That sounded *promising*.

"Yeah, okay," Lewis said stepping away. "Gotta get back myself

"Cool. Great." It was hard to not smile and relocate his keys, while he let Lewis step away. "I'll uh. See you around tomorrow."

Lewis nodded. "No strings right? Don't go and do anything like falling in love, because I'll screw you over. I’m that sorta guy."

Brutally honest and upfront, that was Lewis. He'd never lie to make someone feel better, and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"No strings," Rodney agreed solemnly. It was better than him looking for a seedy bar, which he'd tried, better than him looking around in other, less-safe places. "Have a good night!"

Lewis raised a hand and turned and walked up the street, leaving Rodney alone.

Rodney wasn't stupid. He knew Lewis was probably doing this out of some sort of rebellion to his father, or to prove the point that society rules didn't apply to him.

And... fine. He needed physical, not love. He had love at home, he had Grant, and he couldn't be physical with Grant anymore. It seemed a good sort of arrangement if Lewis didn't change his mind. 

With that in mind, Rodney headed for his car, to get home and listen to Carson chatter about his date.

 

Lunchtimes were like running a gauntlet now. Carson had to check every turn, every corner. Half the time his dinner was stolen if he took his own, or he was frisked for dinner money, or it would end up on the floor. He was beginning to think it wasn't worth even trying to bring his own food. Sometimes if he saw Maddie, she would get something for him, but that was humiliating, and he felt worse if he lost it. The bullying had taken a rapid peak up because word was out that his family was fostering the boys in the news, and for some reason that was reason enough to make his life hell.

It seemed pretty damn stupid that that was happening. The prosecutors were still presenting their case, and Rodney hadn't even testified, but he was in court every day and there were pictures. The paper didn't say who they were with, other than generic foster care, but the kids at school had seen them together a couple of times when Rodney had been free to pick him up back at the start.

So he was reduced to hiding in corners, which had the downside of being dangerous if a gang found him, or being in full public, which had the downside of public humiliation if a gang found him and a mess that might end with him being sent to the Principal. 

Unfortunately, today’s corner was not proving as secure as he had hoped, so not eating hadn't done any good at all.

He needed to be moved to another school or something. Maybe he could talk to his mother. Maybe... 

"Hey, Beckett." Robert was the biggest of what Carson liked to think of as the cro-magnum men who were lingering in grade 12 with limited success.

"Hey, Robert," he replied as calmly as possible. He might try and avoid confrontation, but he wasn't going to piss himself with fear when a bully came up. He had had six other siblings and a host of foster kids, and not all of them were sweetness and light.

“So. How're the two mother fuckers that you've got living with you?" He was all grins, like it was the funniest damn thing he'd ever heard said. Possibly, someone needed to get him that Garfield joke book that Rodney had bought Grant. Then there would have at least been a punch line, even if it was bad.

"That's not even remotely funny, Robert," he said, trying to estimate the best way out. "You don't even have the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah, I do. Did you see their mom? She's hot, skinny, hell, I'd fuck her. They loved it, and now one of them got a conscience and he's all boo hoo. They fucking your mom, yet, Beckett?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Carson snapped back, and every time he was determined not to rise to the bait, he somehow managed to lose his temper. "Maybe you'd love living in a damn basement, because that's the sort of cockroach you are, *Robert*." 

There couldn't've been much for Robert to balance a rebuttal on, but he was going to try, Carson was sure. It was time to think about making a run for it. "Hey, free food, no school, do whatever all day, yeah, I could go for it. How come neither of them are at school, huh?"

“Because unlike you they've got brains, and they're bloody smart," Carson snarked back. "I guess you would like to live in your own shit and be beaten regularly, wouldn't you? " He tried to get to push past the other student, hopeful of making a fast exit before things went downhill.

It must have startled Robert, because he at least managed to rush himself away from the corner, even if he ended up lingering by the lunchroom door. He just had to hope that he didn't follow. He was so relieved at a successful escape that he didn't realize when he practically ran straight into CJ and his group of sycophants. Crap, people behind him now this group ahead and he tried to mumble "Excuse me" and get through.

CJ was just a run of the mill sort of bastard, and he didn't want to run into him and his hangers-on. Soon, he'd be free of them, and that was what Carson was looking forward to most. Just... soon. June, if his petition to graduate with sufficient credits went through. 

"Hey, it's Carson -- Carson, hey, what do you think of the news?"

"What news?" he said, finding his way more than half blocked and difficult to get around.

"That you look good with the wind knocked out of you." And it was as simple as that that the other boy wound up to punch him low in the gut.

He tried pushing them away, but that didn't seem to be working. He wasn't meant to hit, but there were hands clutching at him so even as he doubled over he gave as good as he could get with his elbows, kicking out. He was smaller than them, but stocky, he could get some weight behind it,

"Boys!" That was sharp, a male voice, a teacher-voice, and suddenly CJ was being shoved away. "You three, principal's office, *now*. Beckett, are you all right?"

He wanted to pull off an airy, "Fine" and nonchalantly head off to class but he'd been winded, and he was mistakenly trying to whoop air down even as he tried to speak. It hurt, he bloody well hurt and if he didn't tough this out things were going to get worse. He thought he managed a ‘Fine’ in there somewhere but he was gasping a little. Last time it had been Isobel who'd done something like this and he'd ended up throwing up on her shoes in retaliation.

"Okay, c'mon, we'll get you to the nurses, son." The teacher -- and it wasn't even one of his, it was one of the PE teachers that he recognized but hadn't had -- took his arm and hauled him mostly upright.

"I'm okay," he managed. But rather weirdly he could taste blood at the back of his throat. He must've had a crack across the face and... shit, that was bad. If he bruised they'd all know what was happening. He tried to work out who was pulling him along. Mr. Harrison he thought. 

"No, you're not. Look, you can sit in the nurse’s office, get seen, you'll feel better..." He was walking Carson down the hallway.

"It's nothing unusual," he mumbled, and then cursed himself. He meant to say it's nothing and leave it at that. He wasn't going to whine about things.

"They've targeted you before, son?" That was a sad sort of question, and Carson wanted to say 'no', but. 

His silence was an answer in itself and he felt *embarrassed* by it for god's sake. Like he shouldn't be saying this.

"Skipped grades," he said, which should deflect the real reason away from him.

"What grade are you in?" It was a gentle sort of question while they turned down the administrator's hallway.

"E-Eleven," he said, trying not to limp. "I don't want to miss class."

He really didn't want to miss class, because it would make him stand out even more.

“You're hurt," Mr. Harrison pointed out as he pushed open the door to the nurse’s office and herded him in. "Which isn’t supposed to happen on school grounds."

He looked at the teacher and shook his head. Did they really think that happened? That school was some island of non-violence and learning? He shrugged a little. "It's okay. I'll be okay Mr. Harrison."

“We don't allow fighting in the halls, or for students to hurt each other. This is a rule that I can't bend for anyone," Mr. Harrison said a little sternly, *looking* at Carson. 

Shit, now he was in trouble. He wiped at his nose and it came away bloody and he sat down disconsolately. He'd end up in trouble for fighting, and his mum and dad would be really angry. "I don't want my parents to know," he said. "They've...they've got enough to worry about."

"Linda!" Mr. Harrison leaned in, and startled a little when the nurse came out of the storage closet. "Ah, this one was getting beat up in the lunch room. I need you to take a look at him." 

"Oh dear, you are in a bit of a mess, aren't you?" Linda said, and came over with something to wipe his face to start with. "Where does it hurt?"

Everywhere was not really an answer, so he gestured to his ribs, and then his left leg, and vaguely his head.

She nodded, while Mr. Harrison was reaching over to a phone to call someone. Hell. He didn't want to make things worse, he just wanted to fly under the radar.

He didn't realize it had been that rough. Just a few hits just like usual, and yeah, things had been getting rougher but it hadn't been the end of the world. He'd be leaving soon anyway. He didn't need to be here.

A pad of gauze was pressed to his still bleeding nose, and Linda was lifting his top and he yelped as she pressed on tender spots. This was ridiculous.

"You took a hard hit or two," she murmured, while he tried to see what Mr. Harrison was doing. "I seem to remember a few of your brothers and sisters ending up here"

"Aye well," Carson shrugged a little. "Sometimes. Collin mainly."

"Ah, I remember Collin. He tended to end what he started," she mused, patting his shoulder gently. "I'll get you two Tylenol."

"Thank you." He was missing class, he was missing class and it was ridiculous how panicky he felt about not slotting into the daily routine. Jamie always had a go at him for not being an individual, and trying to skulk along in the shadows, but that was what being a seventh son was all about. Six older and larger and inevitably louder siblings to compete with and either you tried to be the loudest of all or you just accepted the fact that attention was hard to come by.

She moved back into the storage closet, and Mr. Harrison took a sideways look at the door before he came back to Carson. "Well, you can go back to class if you want, or you can go home, Mister Beckett. CJ and his gang are being moved to suspension. I've called your mother. In the future, I want you to *report* when something like this happens. If you're being harassed and beaten up, you're not the only one. You're a mature enough boy, Carson. You should keep that in mind."

"Yes sir," he replied and he was totally doomed now. If they were fine in school, getting home was going to be fraught instead. His mum was going to pitch a fit. So was his dad, and the best he could hope for was to make sure no one knew it had started off being about Rodney and Grant.

Mr. Harrison was looking at him, and then he just nodded. "All right. You can go to class or home, and I hope your day gets better."

"Thank you," he mumbled at him and then tried to consider what would be the best thing, going to class, or going home. He was fifteen years old for Christ’s sake, he ought to be able to hold his own at school, even if it was against people a lot bigger than he was. On the other hand, walking in late to a class looking roughed up had its own terrors and getting home could be a dangerous proposition if CJ and his gang had been suspended.

He would've tossed a coin if he could've. Of course, if CJ and his gang tried to beat him up on the way home, he could always go the old-fashioned press charges route. His parents would approve, at least. 

He'd stay, because he didn't want to be a wuss and if they did try something it would just get them in even more trouble so maybe they would have some sense and steer clear.

Linda came back with the Tylenol and he downed it with a slurp of water. The afternoon wasn't that long, just a couple of hours.

A couple of hours wouldn't kill him.

 

Grant didn't like the way Rodney looked and felt, or the way Carson looked and felt because neither of them looked good. Carson had tried to disappear into his room when he came home from school, but his mother had followed him and there had been a long time of waiting for someone to come out, even as they then had to leave Carson alone to go get Rodney. Then Rodney had come back, looking pale and grim, and he didn't like that either so he was trying to be comforting to them both, but nothing seemed to be helping. He wasn't sure what he should be doing. He understood what was happening, but he didn't understand what he was to do with it.

He was getting better but he didn't know any ways he was allowed to make things better, not now.

He was *trying* Shona's ways, so he was studiously mixing cocoa in a saucepan on the stove. He wasn't sure what to do after that, but they were both very low-feeling and he wanted to try to fix that. There should have been a, a calculation, a level of chocolate that made the world better.

The best he could manage was both Rodney and Carson plus chocolate equaled happiness and that wasn't really good enough. All he wanted to do was to help people be happy. It really shouldn't've been so difficult to do that.

He poured the hot chocolate out and even sprinkled the tops with more chocolate and put in a little cream and sugar and found marshmallow things to make it pretty and took it in.

"I have made... hot chocolate. It, it will help."

Rodney shifted, slouched up from the sofa, and tried to look interested, but Grant could tell he wasn't, not really. Not deep in his heart, and Carson looked surprised and worried. But he'd turned off the stove, so everything was okay. Shona had been watching, letting him decide how to make it. "Oh, thanks. Did you make any for yourself?"

"Yes," he said gesturing to his and picking it up. "Shona said you have had a hard day."

Carson was picking up his mug at least. That was good.

"Yeah. The, the trial was..." Rodney waved a hand, and shifted on the sofa, curling his fingers around the mug. "Thanks. And Carson's not talking about his bruises."

"Nothing to talk about," Carson said. "Just, you know, bullies getting over-enthusiastic. Nothing really surprising there."

Bullies weren't nice, Rodney had told him about them and he didn't like the thought of something like that happening to Carson so he urgently pushed over some of the cookies. Rodney had always brought him cookies to help him feel better. Stolen them away from the upstairs and smuggled them to him.

To bring them cookies, he didn't even have to steal. Carson glanced at him, and then reached for a cookie. "We're being bribed, aren't we?" Rodney guessed, but he had fluff from the cocoa on his lips when he asked that.

"Chocolate is nice and it makes you feel better," Grant announced, as he settled down next to Rodney. "Bullies aren't nice and trials aren't nice, I... I know that much."

And he read the paper. He remembered every word of the articles in the paper.

"Mm." Rodney lowered his eyes, and sucked on the edge of his mug. "You at least deserve a cookie, Carson."

"For what? Being stupid enough to let them catch me?" Carson said, but still had the cookie.

Grant could tell when Rodney was really starting to relax. He could tell when he didn't like what Carson had said too. "Given that logic, Grant and I are stupid, too."

"Your situation was completely different," Carson said. "You had no choice."

Grant wasn't sure what he was talking about there. Until Rodney had gone upstairs he hadn't known that people lived any differently. Being normal meant small dark places. He liked his closet, sometimes, if he got lonely and upset. Shona didn’t seem to understand that it could be comforting.

"Did you ask to be beaten up?" Rodney's voice was stiff, and he shifted, leaned shoulder to shoulder with Grant.

Carson gave a wry smile. "Only if being a few grades ahead is asking for it," he replied.

"No, no it isn't, they shouldn't hurt you," Grant said frowning. "Or, or Rodney. It's not fair."

"C'mere. Sit up here with us, and let's see if we can find something not-news on TV," Rodney decided. "And it's not fair. Or right. You need to take the advice you've been giving."

"What advice is that?" Carson said. "Look, it's not a big deal. You can't avoid it. Things just got a bit out of hand recently and.."

Grant sat up. "Recently means more than once. How.. how many times? Rodney? Recently means more than once?"

"Recently means more than once," Rodney agreed, leaning forward to set his mug on the coffee table. "How can you help us, and tell us things, when you're just making excuses for the people who're hurting *you*?"

"I'm not making excuses!" Carson said sounding frustrated. "I try to bloody well deal with them on my own, because that's what I always do! There's no brothers or sister or anyone else at the school to back me up. Everyone my own age runs a mile from the people I come up against. I just...get on with it. It's only going to bloody well get worse now."

Grant cowered back a bit. Carson sounded frustrated and angry and that really wasn't like him.

He was never angry. "How? How can it get worse?" 

Carson looked at them both. "Because they got suspended. Do I have to spell it out? Today they crossed a line in front of a teacher, and got suspended which means they're not going to just let that slide. "

Grant was frowning. "I... I don't understand why they did that now if this has happened a lot?"

"So..." Rodney leaned again, snagging two cookies, and he passed one to Grant. "What'll they do?"

"Try and catch me after school I guess," Carson said. He gave a wry sort of smile. "If I'm not back when you get in, send out a search party, okay?"

Grant blinked a little, mentally vowing if Carson wasn't back when he should be back he would go looking for him no matter how scary it was. It was always better if someone else was there.

"Call the police? That's assault," Rodney shrugged. "You could be more trouble than they'd want to bother with."

"Believe me, if it goes that far I will,” Carson promised. "Now we've dissected my useless day, how were your days?" he asked.

Grant looked at Rodney. "I... I did some cooking, and then Shona and I went out down the road, and I came back and worked on my equations again until lunch. Then I helped do some cleaning. Shona says soon we need to think about Halloween and things. It sounded fun. "

"Jeannie used to dress up every year," Rodney noted mildly. "She was a, uhm. Character of something last year. Some cartoon."

"Can we dress up?" Grant asked as that sounded interesting. He liked a lot of cartoon characters. "When do we dress up?"

"Well sometimes for parties, or to go out trick or treating," Carson said. "People give you candy and sweets. And we give them out from here as well."

"We can if you want," Rodney offered, *looking* at Carson over Grant's head, some eye-words that Grant didn't get being passed between them.

"I'd like to dress up for Halloween," Grant said. "I... I've never done anything like that before." It sounded exciting and fun.

"We can make costumes. There's some good bits and pieces upstairs. I think we got some costumes... Mairi and Jamie made costumes based on the movie Tron that came out a couple of years ago. Did I show you that one?" Carson asked.

"No?" But Rodney sounded interested, and that was better than Rodney sounding tense and unhappy, so Grant wanted to see it, too.

"I think we've got it here, it's about computers. Well sort've," Carson said. 

Grant read and watched everything he could about computers, and so did Rodney, so this was actually exciting. "Can we watch it now?" he asked hopefully. Maybe Rodney would relax if they did.

"I think your mum wanted to eat dinner in here tonight. She mentioned it in the car." 

Casual sort of dinner, with Carson's father out on nightshift. Lachlan was nice, and one nightshift meant he worked two, or three, and then had a day off, and that was nice. Grant sort of liked him, liked his books a lot. He was nice.

"After dinner then. " Carson looked at Rodney. "So come on, how was it?"

Rodney liked to repeat questions back a lot, when Grant knew he already knew what the question *really* was, but he didn't this time. "Miserable. She's being smug."

"Smug? What the bloody hell has she got to be smug about?" Carson said. "That's just... rubbish. Are they still doing opening statements or whatever?"

"Yeah. It's... bizarre. I think they're angling for a sympathy/insanity plea. I don't know." Rodney stood up. "I'm uh. Going to see if your mom will let us watch a movie and eat dinner, Carson."

"She probably will," Carson said and Grant nodded. Food was good, even after the hot chocolate he had made.

"I will set the table," he announced. "Shona said she would make something nice for you both."

Shona was almost always right when she said she was making something extra special, but he hadn't yet found food that he didn't want to eat. Partly because any food had been pretty fantastic, especially food Rodney brought him. He would find something Rodney really liked and learn to make that so he could take it to Rodney.

"That's nice," Carson said, yawning, even as he didn't get up. "I'll just stay here a mo, I think I'm a bit tablet woozy."

"What else did you take?" Rodney asked, just before he stuck his head into the kitchen, and ended up being backed out by Shona carrying a tray. 

"No, no, none of this setting the table. Let's all eat in here and relax for once. It's just the four of us. I made pizza bread."

"Stronger painkiller. My ribs were hurting some. Just bruises," Carson said. "That smells fantastic. Mmm."

It did. Pizza was a very favorite thing for Grant. Pizza bread had to be fantastic.

It *looked* like a huge loaf of bread, smooth and rounded towards the center, and Shona set it down on the coffee table. "Now, does someone want to get knives forks and plates?"

Grant immediately leapt into action. That he could do and he liked to be helpful. He was there and back rapidly and put all the plates in the middle and the knives and forks. 

"You are probably exhausted. Carson, your father will want to talk to you when you get home, but you should think about an early night. And you Rodney. Today could not have been easy. Lachlan is going to try and take some time off so one or other of us can come and be with you."

Rodney shrugged his shoulders a little. "It's okay. The social worker was there." And she wasn't someone Rodney *liked*. "Thanks for the bread -- ooo." Rodney sat back a little while Shona cut it, and revealed pepperoni and cheese and meats that were tucked thickly into the inside.

"Wish I could be there," Carson said. "To...you know. Help out."

"I should start testifying tomorrow. Or not. Depending on how much foot dragging there is." Shona was carefully cutting each of them huge chunks, and it smelled wonderful. Grant tried to do his part by passing Grant and Carson plates, and then one for Shona, and one for himself. There were leftovers, and that meant *lunch*.

"I could go?" Grant suggested as he ate the hot cheese and pepperoni. "I could go and help?"

"No, no, no..." Carson said immediately.

"They're going to read your deposition tomorrow. Because they don't... It's not nice. Everyone's watching you, and it's a room full of people. You don't want to be there." Rodney sat back. "Thank you, Mrs. Beckett."

"Shona, sweetheart," she replied. "And I'll be there, or Lachlan. We're not letting the social worker be your only contact there, okay?"

That was good. If he couldn't be there then someone should be,

"Okay. It's just... It'll be over, and then it'll be *over*, so..." Rodney hunched in around his plate and seemed to be enjoying it. Grant moved towards him, eyeing Carson. 

"Oh, movie!" He startled. "Can we put a movie in?"

"Do you mind if we do, mum?" Carson asked. "I wanted to show them Tron - I was telling them about the Tron Halloween costumes."

"You go ahead, sweetheart, I might even watch a bit with you all," she said, and smiled. "At least until the pizza bread is gone."

It made Rodney smile, and that was important, Grant knew. He shifted, sat on the sofa with his feet tucked under him, and balanced his mug in one hand and his plate in the other while Carson got the movie.

It would be okay, he could help now even if it was just making hot chocolate and sitting next to his brother as they watched a movie. He was going to do whatever he could to make sure no one got hurt, not anymore, even if he didn't really know what to do.

 

After days and days, Rodney still hadn't testified. They were still bringing in 'experts' to discuss this and that, police to lay out the facts of the charges, the evidence gathered and supportable conclusions. It was not very pleasant and Grant thought it most unfair because it meant he was alone a lot of the time. Things were just not as interesting when Lachlan was watching him, because he did a lot of work on the phone, and in his study area. 

So he would wait eagerly for Carson to get home and then they might go out for a walk or play something or he could just tell him what he had been up to and they would worry about Rodney together until he came home.

Only Carson was late.

Carson had been late by five minutes before, and he had been worried the one time it had been ten minutes late, but it was much later than that, and he wanted to tell Lachlan they needed to make a search party as Carson had said, but you never interrupted an adult, never, never.

Never. He knew that from home, because interrupted adults were angry adults, and he'd promised Carson that he'd look for him if he went missing, and twenty minutes counted as *missing*. Twenty minutes was too long.

He liked outside, but it was a bit scary if he was on his own, but he liked Carson, and Rodney liked Carson and if he got picked on again like he thought than that was bad. After some half stepping out and then back in again, Grant made up his mind and slipped out of the house and started down the route he knew from the one time he had walked with Shona to half meet Carson on his way home.

If he had to go *further* than that, he wasn't going to be sure where he was going, but as long as he found Carson in that area, he wouldn't get lost. He wanted to call for Carson, see if he was maybe hiding. Grant would've hidden.

He would've found a nice dark hidden spot and crept into it. First left, second right, past the house with the nice dog, up around the junction, to the park and there was a cut through the park which he headed to, and then he could see a cluster of people up ahead.

He didn't want to head towards the people, but he could hear voices, yelling, shouting, and those weren't good signs to hear. He started towards the noise.

"Think you could get away with getting us suspended, you fucking nerd?" a rough voice said. "My Dad kicked my ass over that, so the least you can do is have some of the same."

"Get the hell off of me!" That was Carson, that was Carson and he was in trouble! Grant knew he would be in trouble.

“Knock it off!" He roared it, popping out of the underbrush around his shortcut, and he was pretending he was Rodney because if *Rodney* were there he'd do that.

It startled the group a little.

"Geez, it's one of the freaks," CJ said reorienting himself on Grant and suddenly that wasn't so good. "Come to rescue your fuck buddy, huh? That's what you do, isn't it, freak?"

He shifted, stood up tall, and focused hard, and it wasn't going to *last*, but it, it was. It was. And he could *pretend*, like his characters in the game they played! "No. Leave Carson alone. Carson, we're going home. Your father called the, called the police."

Carson pushed himself up and over to him, straightening up even as CJ narrowed his eyes.

"No, he hasn't. You're alone, you motherfucker. You're a pervert and he defends perverts. Calls you foster brother, as if he can stand to even look at you."

"CJ, back off. I will report you," Carson said, pulling himself up a little erratically, but his voice sounded no nonsense.

"He can't even look us in the eye!" A stone flew out of nowhere right at him, and hit him with a sharp pain.

“Ow! What, what's wrong with you? You're not supposed to do that." He reached a hand up to cover the spot that hurt, moving closer to Carson. 

"Grant!" Carson pulled him behind him in a gesture that felt familiar at the very least. He leaned in close. "Tell me dad knows where you are?"

"Phone. He was on the phone," Grant mumbled. "We're going *home*, Carson. You're late."

"Oh, crap..." 

The gang was sensing weakness, or perhaps with their new prey there, a new focus for their aggression.

"You're going to pay," CJ said glaring at them both. "Get them!"

Grant would never forget what Carson did next because it was what Rodney would do, and he didn't think anyone else would really care like Rodney did. But Carson obviously did and that made him special. He glanced at Grant with a worried terrified expression and then turned back to the bullies as he shouted "Run Grant! Get Dad!" as he tried to deal with the hail of missiles and then the punches thrown his way like some sort’ve human shield.

Grant ran, ran all the way back to the house, and the door had closed behind him, so he had to pound on it, and he could still hear the friendly dog's yapping in his ear.

Lachlan came to the door and looked worried and concerned. "Grant, I've been looking for you everywhere... what's happened to you lad? You're bleeding."

"Carson's in trouble, they're beating him up! He was, he was late, late coming home and you were on the phone and I shouldn’t interrupt you, so I went to get him and they're hurting him!"

"What? Where?” To his credit Lachlan didn't hesitate, just headed out after him, half breaking into a run.

Grant didn't want to think about what was happening, but Carson had told him to go and get his dad, and he had. He hoped that was the right thing and he was scared now because what if something happened to Carson?

What if it wasn't good enough? He ran, though, fast as he could, until his chest hurt and his legs hurt and then they were *there* again.

The moment an adult came into sight, the gang dispersed, running hell for leather away, and Carson was lying on the ground, and it was like when Rodney had had the allergy and he had collapsed and was pale, but he could see blood now, and Lachlan made a half cry of horror and anger and ran to Carson.

He didn't like the blood, blood was bad and he could smell it, and the memories that bubbled up with the metallic tang and Carson was very pale and not moving, not even a little bit and he was scared now that he'd done the wrong thing and he wanted to hide but Carson needed him here. But he also thought longingly of the space under the bed, which was a good place not to be found.

Maybe he could go back there later. Soon. He edged in closer to Carson. "Is, is he, Carson? Hi, I got your, your dad, I'm sorry..."

"He's unconscious, lad," Lachlan said, examining him, and his voice was tight and strange. "He can't hear you. How did it get to this? Just because he's smart? It can't be just that."

"They said, said..." Oh. Oh. And words tumbled into his ear, into his mind again, and he *remembered*, not that he didn’t always remember, he did, but this was sharp and present. "It's our fault. Because of us."

"What is?" Lachlan asked glancing at him. "It's not your fault Grant, it's... those boys! They did this." He had relaxed a little since he found a pulse, but he still looked shocked. He was obviously deciding whether it was better to try and move Carson rather than risk leaving him here to phone an ambulance. "Where's the nearest phone?"

"On the other side of the park. I, I can go...?" He wasn't sure whom he was supposed to call.

"Grant, do you know how to call an ambulance and what to say?" Lachlan asked hopefully. "I don't want to leave Carson and I'm concerned about moving him."

"Yes, yes, I can, I'll." He turned, and ran back onto the park path that he knew so well. He had change, in his pocket, and he knew how to use an outdoors phone because it was on Shona's list of Things he Should Know.

He was doing something to help and he felt it was his fault that this had happened. He hadn't known that was why Carson was having trouble but he didn't like it and now something had happened.

He made it to the phone and said everything as Shona had told him, methodically and clearly. An ambulance would come. He remembered those. They had taken him in one of those when he had gone Outside for the first time. There had been a bright light.

A bright light on top, and the woman wanted him to stay on the phone, but he said he needed to get back to Mr. Beckett and Carson and he did. He did need to get back to them and make sure that everything was still okay, that Carson was okay. Even if he couldn't do anything.

Carson appeared to be stirring a little when he got back and Lachlan patted Grant’s arm and said "Thank you lad," and he knew he had done things right.

"Oh bloody hell..." Carson mumbled. "Ow..ow...crap." He cracked open his eyes. "Dad? Grant?"

"Ambulance will be here soon. And, and police," Grant offered, kneeling down. "They, they were throwing rocks."

“Lie still, son, where does it hurt?" Lachlan asked.

"You're going to be angry if I say everywhere aren't you?" Carson said with a cough that nearly folded him up with pain. "I… I might've done something to my ribs."

"But you didn't do it. They..." Grant gestured, fist-motions, and glanced at Lachlan.

"Grant's right. We've called an ambulance, Grant called an ambulance." 

Carson's eyes went comically wide with horror. "I'm okay, I don't want a fuss. I'll be fine when I'm at home."

"Carson, you were unconscious for at least ten minutes that *I* know about," Lachlan said. "If I ever hear that you've let someone skip a doctor's visit after being out for that length of time, I won't be passing you my stethoscope okay? You've most likely got broken ribs, and a concussion at the least."

He groaned and reached for Grant, patting him. "You did a great job, Grant. Did exactly what I said."

But he had left Carson there alone facing them and that didn't seem right.

"I didn't want to leave you. I should've... Rodney would've done more." Rodney was more confident, and Rodney would've gotten into the fight and then probably gotten in trouble.

Here were sirens then and Carson groaned. "I'm really okay, dad," he tried again but it wasn't that convincing. 

"You wait until you try moving," Lachlan said. "I am the doctor around here, you know. I'm fully expecting you to upchuck the moment we move you." He glanced at Grant. "You're going to have to come with us in the ambulance, or we'll have to go get the car and follow you in, Carson."

"I, I can go with you?" If he could, then he wanted to go, because that was just easier. Rodney might show up for them, that way. Maybe they'd let him out of the trial.

 

The really strange thing was how embarrassed he felt. And hurt, but in some ways after the pills kicked it, it was the shame of letting a group of bullies get one over on him that made him uncomfortable. That and the strapped ribs, and the nausea from the concussion, and the small fracture in his arm.

His dad was furious, and although Carson knew it wasn't technically at him, it was such an alarming sight he wanted to do a Grant and tuck himself away.

His father had talked to the police, there and then while they'd been at the hospital, and now he was on the phone again, and they were putting the boys down for assault, which was a bit worse than being suspended. For now he was in bed, under an advisory to 'rest'.

And he was bored. Very bored. And a little worried about going back to school. Not that he could right now anyway. He had dozed a little, and then woken up even more bored and not quite able to focus well enough to read.

He wasn't surprised that Rodney was there, that Rodney had pulled a chair up and was leaning with his elbows on his knees. "Well."

"Hi, Rodney," he said and he even felt embarrassed talking to Rodney now. His life was going to be one big mass of crimson shame at this rate.

"I'll be going downstairs in a few to help minutes. Grant and I are going to eat up here with you. If that's all right, I mean. I did only hear a second-hand version of events." 

"If it was from Grant it was most likely more precise than anything I can remember," he said shifting slight. "It'd be good to have company. I'm bored and mum won't let me get up. Or dad."

"You have a fractured rib, and the rest are bruised. You know, and the school bullies apparently threw rocks at you because your parents are fostering Grant and I. I'm pretty sure that now I know why mum just didn't plead guilty. This way she still gets to ruin lives as much as possible." Rodney didn't move, but he was looking at Carson, watching his face. Sometimes Carson felt like Rodney could read his mind, but he was quite possibly wrong.

"Rodney..." He reached out with a rather sore arm. "Rodney, that was just their latest excuse. It's not really to do with you guys."

They'd been picking on him for years and sometimes whomever they fostered came up, but on the whole him being smart seemed to be reason enough.

"So they just... regularly beat the shit out of you?" Rodney pressed, still watching him.

“Well.." Carson grimaced a little. "Things escalated a bit. You know the sort've thing I mean, Rodney, you've been to school. People don't like it if you're too good at stuff."

He watched Rodney shake his head. "No. No, they don't do that in college, and I scared them in high school. I had other things on my mind, never paid them any attention."

That was actually kind of depressing in a way. Maybe it was just him after all. "Oh, well.." He cleared his throat. "I try not to pay any attention and avoid them but that's easier said than done. I don't think I've managed to eat lunch for some time now."

"And you didn't mention this to anyone? Did you tell your parents?" Rodney sat up a little.

"...No?" Carson frowned. What was the big deal? "I've been dealing with it. It's important to deal with things. My brothers and sisters all managed it, I can't be the only Beckett not able to hold his own. I'll never live it down and I'll be a disappointment to my dad."

"I know Grant and I are essentially guests in the house, but have you *met* your parents, Carson? There's dealing with someone calling you a fag at school, and then there's dealing with having them steal your food on a consistent basis. One of these things is more serious than the other."

,"I'm not exactly starving to death. Rodney," he pointed out. "Look, compared to... well everything the other fosters and what you and Grant have been through, it's really very inconsequential."

Like he liked to be. It was a constant paradox, he wanted to be the best because he had a lot to live up to, but he didn't want to have the profile that came with it.

"You have a fractured rib," Rodney pointed out, gesturing with a hand towards Carson's torso. "So. Not exactly inconsequential. Your father's pressing charges.”

"God, I know..." he groaned. "What am I going to do? I really don't want to go back there. They weren't the only ones there."

"I think it might work out better this way. I mean, they won't even acknowledge you're alive if some of them have been reprimanded via the police." At least, that was Rodney's logic.

"Yeah, well, I hoped that would be the case when they were suspended for it." He shifted and swore, he would never underestimate how painful a broken rib could be. 

"Yeah, well. They're *crazy* is my best bet." Rodney shifted, stood up, and moved finally. "I'm going to grab dinner. Do you want me to turn the TV on for you? If you let Grant do it, I can't guarantee that you won't end up watching Cartoons."

“Please," Carson said and exhaled. "And don't you go blaming yourself for any of this, Rodney. I know who's to blame for it."

"Who?" It was a funny sort of question, while Rodney lingered at the TV, turning it on, before he came back to Carson with the clunky remote. Grant had already fixed it once.

"CJ and his gang," he said. "Not you. Go get dinner, I want to hear what happened today."

"Okay. As long as you're not blaming yourself," Rodney advised gently, and then moved to slip out. Maybe he *was* blaming himself, but he wasn't going to say it.

He should've handled it better. He was going to be hauled over the coals by his brothers and sisters, his mum had been bad enough before she realized he was barely awake. It just wasn't fair, he hated this. He hated the fact everyone seemed to find it easy and he didn't. He was friends or acquaintances with a lot of people but he was trapped in that school limbo of not having any peers.

No friends. Rodney didn't *really* need friends, and now that he was at college, he was mingling, making contacts, and Carson wanted so badly to go off to college a year early. Maybe he could use all of this as leverage with his parents and the school. 

Maybe then he could dress older like Rodney did and just get on with it. Make friends, as there were ages that mingled a little more. But then there was Maddie and...

It gave him a headache.

It just left him tired and drained, and he was almost glad for the distraction that was Grant walking into the room backwards with a dinner tray for him. "Hi Carson. Dinner tonight is bowtie pasta, in alfredo sauce, and bread we made yesterday."

"Thank you, Grant," he said although he wasn't sure how hungry he was. "I'll see what I can manage. Have a seat."

"Mm-mmm. How're you feeling? S-Shona said you're not going to school tomorrow. I can keep you company," he promised, seconds before Rodney came in.

“That'll be good," Carson replied, settling the tray down after Grant passed it over. "I'm feeling a bit painful, but I'm okay, Grant," he said.

"But better?" Grant looked so hopeful, while Rodney waved at him with two fingers, carrying another tray. 

"And the rest of the food, and drinks."

"Some better, yes," Carson replied knowing full well he would feel worse the following day. Injuries generally did one way or another. "I'm going to be fine."

"Can you sit up, or should we prop you up with pillows?" Rodney asked blandly while he set the tray carefully on the floor.

"I told you I wasn't that bad," Carson said confidently and tried sitting up. He did manage it, but he was ridiculously tired in the process. "I want to hear what happened to you today."

"Trial," Rodney shrugged. "I did some of the testimony the prosecution wanted. I'm starting to miss the idiots in my classes."

"You haven't had the defense go at you yet?" Carson asked, concerned, trying to eat a little awkwardly

"Not yet. Tomorrow, maybe." Rodney gestured vaguely with his fork. "We'll see. They're moving slowly. And the whole time she sits there, smiling."

"Maybe if I don't go back early some day, I can come with you," he said. He wanted to see this woman who pretended to be normal after what she had done to Rodney and Grant.

"She... never smiles good smiles," Grant said.

"It should be over soon," Rodney shrugged. "Another few days. I hope."

"You reckon? Hopefully it should all be done and dusted before everyone comes home for Thanksgiving," Carson said shifting slightly. "Maybe we should phone Aileen and ask for tips, she knows this sort've thing."

The line between Rodney's thick eyebrows creased. "Why?"

"When they cross examine you, Rodney, it's not straightforward. " Carson didn't want to say that Rodney's mother had obviously hired a high priced lawyer who would drag him over the coals. "It helps to know how to present yourself."

Rodney groaned and set his fork down. "Not you, too. Do you know how much god-damned advice I've gotten over this the last few weeks? And the best part is that *no-one* really agrees, and yes, Grant, I'm swearing." He rounded on his owl-eyed brother with a *look* in his eyes. "But I've had it up to way over my head with the unsolicited, well-meaning advice. Presenting myself this way and talking another way and blah blah blah doesn’t fucking *matter* because she's sitting there and my step-father is out there in the audience acting like he's shocked and personally affronted by every word. I'd like to lock *his* fucking ass in a cellar for a few years and it might wipe the gall off of his face, but no. No, that's wrong and I can't do that, even though I had years of him tsking at me for being an *odd* boy. It apparently never crossed his mind that his wife was a fucking *lunatic*."

Carson flinched just a little bit. "Sorry," he said ducking his head a little. "I.. was just trying to help. Thought it might help you feel more in control of things."

The shouting wasn't a good thing right now. It made him clench up, and feel unsettled.

"I'm not in control. I'm on display to a whole room full of people who... I don't know." Rodney's anger was usually like a back draft in a fire -- fast and raging and extinguishing itself as it went. Rodney shifted, reached for his chunk of bread, and looked sullen when he looked at Carson again. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"I... I've never seen my step father," Grant said in the uncomfortable silence. "He... doesn't know who I am."

Even now, knowing what it was like for them, revelations like that could shock him. "I'm not sure that you want to see him, Grant," Carson said, feeling upset but blanking it. 

Rodney didn't try words, and maybe that was a better idea on the whole. Carson was still sitting up in bed, but Rodney shifted, moved his chair over to his side like a table for the pasta and milk and bread, and made a gesture to Grant, and Grant moved, did the same, mirroring his brother, until he sat down beside him and just leaned into him. "He sucked anyway. He missed out on *you*, not the other way around. His loss."

Grant ate his pasta and shook his head. "I don't like losing things or people. I thought I lost Rodney when he went upstairs, and then again when he went to college, and then Carson today when you were so still and your dad was crying.."

"Wait, ...wait, my Dad was crying?" Carson asked, a bit shocked.

"Yes," Grant said. "He was very worried. And he told me to phone an ambulance, and I knew how to because Shona told me. She has told me more than our step father ever will."

"Yeah." No arguing from Rodney, and he rubbed at Grant's shoulder with one hand, quiet. "I... you should really be resting, Carson. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap."

"It's okay," he said automatically. "I thought I was meant to be eating?"

"Bread?" Grant offered. "It's good. Can we watch something?"

"Whatever you want." Rodney glanced up to Carson, like he was checking that statement. But generally, whatever Grant wanted to watch was 'cute', or light and fun. It wasn't like some of the fosters who were drawn to darker, gloomier things. Grant's preference for TV was a good seven years younger than his real age.

Which he understood. Grant was discovering a world from scratch and working his way up. "Aye, Grant, your choice," he agreed. He could always fall asleep if it was too much.

Grant picked up the remote and started to flip through channels in quick succession, settling on a re-run of star-trek. It was good background noise. Rodney had returned to quiet, but at least he was eating again.

He ate a little bit himself but his heart - or his stomach - wasn't really in it. He stopped fairly quickly and half watched Rodney eat. 

He told himself it was the after effects of the concussion or painkillers but he looked at Rodney and wanted desperately to make things okay. To touch him to make things better, or just have the right word to say. But all he could manage was watching and almost zoning out on him.

It wasn't so bad, but. Maybe in the morning, the next day or the day after that, he could make himself useful again.

 

He shouldn't have snapped at Carson.

He shouldn't have snapped at anyone, but he had to keep talking and talking and making statements and there was no break between the prosecution and the defense. One minute he was standing there, trying to focus and make the room as visually small for himself as possible, the next moment there was a completely new lawyer standing in front of him.

The lawyer who approached him this time was as sleek and edgy as a shark and eyeing him up like a morsel. "Meredith Rodney McKay..." he drawled. "That is your full name, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's my full name," Rodney agreed, watching the man warily.

"But you go by the name of Rodney?" he asked and Rodney had to wonder what the hell the point was of that. Something easy perhaps to get him into the habit of saying yes.

"Yes. I prefer Rodney. It's a male name. Likewise, my brother's full name is *Beverly Grant*, and he goes by Grant." That was what the man got for thinking he could get Rodney to just say yes or no. They'd already had that discussion with the judge, before the man had even started, that Rodney wasn't supposed to be restricted to Yes and No answers, which was what the defense attorney had wanted.

"We've heard the prosecution say that you were kept in the cellar, but what was never discussed were the reasons why," the lawyer said. "Your mother maintains that you were traumatized by your birth father while very young, and when in an act of desperate self-defense she caused his death and panicked, you were so mentally scarred that you displayed abnormal behavior and refused to leave the cellar, or to let her remove you from the vicinity of his body."

Bullshit. "That's not a question, you're making a statement at me. I thought we were leaving the quality of my mother's lies up to the jury to decide?"

"But you cannot deny that it is a possibility as it occurred before the point either you or your brother were beyond the point known as childhood amnesia as Dr Groscheyvnski has testified, along with his insights into the potential psychological effects of such abuse," he said, pacing towards the jury. "It is very unusual for there to be coherent memories prior to the age of 4 or more usually five, particularly if the child in question has been abused."

"I remember, very clearly, sitting on a carpet in the basement, building blocks with my brother while she mixed cement and covered the body. Grant, until very recently, talked about the 'doll' that was in the floor where we were kept. These are strong memories for us." Traumatic, even.

"But not reliable memories," the lawyer was quick to point out. "And your brother is not stable mentally, as the psychiatrists reports have indicated. His recollection is scarcely the sort of thing that can be taken at his word. And your own... how old were you then...*Rodney*?"

"Two or three, and do you have a problem with my name, Counsel?" He shifted his hands on the railing, focusing his eyes on just that man.

"You know your mother prefers your first given name, and yet you chose the second," the lawyer said. "I believe that you show yourself capable of defiance and independent thought through such actions, so the prosecution's assertion you never had choices is plainly ridiculous. You've been exercising choices all along. Your name, where you were...”

"I didn't *choose* to be raised in a cellar, Counsel," Rodney snapped. "I picked my middle name because I identify as a boy. Male. It's not really a choice. Likewise, I didn't *choose* to have the allergic reaction that made my mother decide that, hey, maybe I could live upstairs under a *new* set of restrictions."

"Exactly. You were given the option to be elsewhere and you chose to take it," the lawyer said. "Your mother *saved* your life, Rodney, yes or no?"

Yes. Yes, *but*. "Surprisingly, yes. And she never let me forget it, often telling me that she should have just let me die. And later on, she delighted in visibly adding orange zest to food, so I couldn't eat it."

"No doubt making it obvious to you so that you wouldn't inadvertently eat something bad for you," the lawyer said smoothly. "So, why do you think that your mother would save you if she didn't love you and have your best interests at heart?"

"Curiosity, I'm assuming. She delighted in terrorizing me. No, she didn't make it so I might inadvertently eat something that was bad for me. But when she added a bit of it to every part of a meal, she'd make a huge fuss to her new husband that I was a troublesome picky eater. It's not exactly like it was a *kind* gesture. Meatloaf, from what I've learned, doesn't require lemon zest and lemon juice." The lawyer was smooth, and Rodney felt so clumsy standing there, trying to look as 'together' as he could manage.

"Home family recipes aside, Rodney, did you genuinely believe that your mother really intentionally victimized you... or could it possibly be paranoia?" the lawyer suggested artfully. "Perhaps, more than a hint of delusion which would be completely fitting with your early childhood trauma."

"So are you trying to say that her forcing me to have sex with her, her control of my food, her control of *me* through Grant's food, was all some delusion stemming from abuse she'd *already* perpetuated on me? That's a really sad case you're making there, sir. I genuinely believe that my mother, *Grant's* mother, intentionally victimized both of us, from the day she killed our father to the day that the police came upon Grant and I, with Grant half-starved in my absence. Building a secret hide-away in the cellar isn't unintentional. Changing the log-in code at the *very* expensive keypad is *not* unintentional. My mother wasn't some happy la la la ditzy homemaker like you're trying to make her out to be. She engineers weaponry for the government. She's *brilliant*."

The lawyer didn't look the least bit perturbed. In fact he smiled a little. "Have you ever heard of a Jocasta complex, Rodney? I'm not sure if you were present when Dr Groscheyvnski explained it to the court."

"I was in the bathroom throwing up," Rodney deadpanned, keeping his eyes on the man. "I hung around for about five minutes of his explanation, and that was all I could stomach."

"Then perhaps you might not be aware that the sort of behavior you are describing and displaying is consistent with the effects of this syndrome," the lawyer pointed out. "Ambivalent feelings towards one's mother, delusions, paranoia, self-narcissistic tendencies. We've all heard you state earlier how much of a genius you consider yourself to be."

"I'm 16 years old, and I'm in my second year of college. I'll have finished undergrad in less than three years, and I'm pulling a double major in physics and engineering. If I hadn't spent the formative years of my life in a cellar, I'd probably have my first doctorate by now. Also, I thought that *Jocasta* was the mother in Oedipus Rex, and that the Jocasta complex was a mother's obsession with her son, not any of the problems coping with day to day life that the social worker has me attending therapy for." He'd had so many people tell him to be demure on the stand, be polite, but he was going to actually follow his therapist's suggestion and just be *himself*.

"A well balanced individual would not be attending therapy, would they?" The lawyer leaned closer. "You were lucky to have a placement at all, as your files were marked high risk of violence. "

"You're making a case against my mother, right now, Counsel. She raised me. She abused me, she made me have *sex* with her, and you can't separate that from the rest of me. I don't know why my files are marked high risk of violence. I've never hurt anyone in my life. I went away to college and never had an incident. I might not be a nice person, but I don't hurt people. That's more than I can say for my mother."

"So it is a coincidence that your foster families youngest son has just been treated for broken ribs, a concussion and a fracture in his arm?" the lawyer aimed the barb at him. "Tell me was that you or Grant?"

“That was the school bullies!" Rodney snapped. "And Lachlan's filed charges against them. They threw a rock at Grant's head, and Grant ran and called 911. Do you even *look* at the police reports before you jump to a conclusion? Three of the boys don't have a bail hearing until Friday at the soonest. They picked on Carson because he’s been a good friend to Grant and I, and this has been all over the news. Don't you drag our foster family into this. They're good people."

It hadn't been about that though, the question though easily refutable had been calculated for effect, to give the impression of him as unstable.

"Yes, they are," the lawyer agreed. "But it's a statement consisting of your brother's testimony isn't it and he is...more damaged, shall we say, than you are. In fact Rodney, the interpretation of events so very often seems to come down to the word of your mother against your word, doesn't it? You say that she abused you sexually, she claims you made sexual advances on her, and then blamed her in a fit of self loathing after the event."

"I was *nine*. And it occurred repeatedly, *downstairs*. She made Grant and I *earn* things -- like time together, time with my school books, extra food -- by performing sex acts on and for her. The sexual abuse is actually substantiated in my medical records, as the prosecution showed yesterday. Doctors documenting and then failing to report it. But, documented, photographed -- it's not I said, she said."

"Actually, that documentation does not prove sexual abuse, they in reality prove that sexual intercourse took place, but not that it was abuse." The lawyer said. " Rodney, through your own words you have explained how clever you are, how much smarter than us mere mortals..."

It sounded condescending and it was meant to alienate the jury, he knew that. 

"With that incredible intelligence, do you expect us to believe that you could not have reasoned a way to get out of the situation if you had really *wanted* to, if you weren't a part of the problem?" he said. "After all, college student at 15 ,was it? And unable to work out a means to tell the police? I don't think so."

Rodney took a breath to steady himself, shaking his head. "I'm good at *math*. I'm good at *science*. I'm not good at *people*. I'm emotionally immature, according to every authority figure I've come across. Believe me, I had plans! I had lots of plans from telling teachers, which I tried and got chewed out for, to telling random strangers who looked at me like I was crazy, to my most recent plan, which was to drive up from college, break Grant out, and then drive back over the border and live happily ever after. Except that's not actually a plan, it was a wishful daydream. I didn't think about things like trials and therapy and rehabilitation for Grant because he'd never seen the *sky*. I never thought to tell the police because my mother had a police captain as a friend, and he came for dinner. She'd done custom work on his personal handguns. What was I going to say to someone who trusted her far more than me? I'm *young*, people don't listen to me."

"Yes, you are young, and as you quite rightly admit, emotionally immature. You admit that you have taken action that was completely flawed and it is obvious that your judgment is biased," the lawyer said sharply. "This is at the crux of the matter. No doubt due to your abuse by your natural father, you and your brother developed the pathology of mental illness, manifesting in a wide range of bizarre mental behaviors such as not wanting to leave the basement, forcing intimate contact on your mother, also emotionally scarred by the abuse your father dealt out, and then rejecting your own actions in a mass of self-delusions, self loathing and paranoia. You have been sick, Rodney, sick all your life and the greatest tragedy of all is that you don't even realize it."

"Objection!" Oh *finally*, it was nice to know that the prosecutor had a pulse. Rodney glanced up to the judge.

"Objection upheld. You can either ask Mister McKay a question, or you can leave the court-room, Counsel." 

Fantastic. Except that Rodney hadn't been allowed to rebut that last statement, and he *wasn't* sick. He wasn't. "My father never abused us."

"That you recollect," the lawyer qualified. "Isn't it true, Rodney, that you willingly participated in sexual acts with your mother to get what you wanted?"

"You're phrasing that question with a slant. I had sex with her to acquire things for my brother like blankets and clothes and food. Sure, I could sneak them down there, but she took them away again -- she made me have sex with her before she'd *leave* Grant his blanket or his book or his favorite stuffed toy." And he was getting tired of talking about it, getting tired of *remembering*. Just... tired and queasy and he wanted to go home.

"But the fact of the matter was you offered sex and received what you wanted." The lawyer summarized. "Isn't it also true that your mother saved your life?"

"And then *hung* it over my head for the rest of my life. Her not letting me die doesn't absolve her of *everything* else she ever did to my brother and me. That's like applauding a drunk driver for stopping at the scene of a hit and run. Well, whoop-dee-doo. It's not like she was doing the right thing to *start* with. And just let me clarify -- she told *me* that if I wanted Grant to have any kind of comfort or company or education past general literacy that I'd have to have sex with her. It was not *my* idea, and it was... Horrifying."

"That of course is your, opinion of things," the lawyer answered. "Isn't it correct that you were also caught making an incendiary device at school?"

“For a science fair project," Rodney agreed. "When I was downstairs with Grant, she often had us near her designs for work if she was with us. I rebuilt one of them for a science fair, not knowing that I was breaching national security. It didn't *work*, anyway."

"But it could've done given the correct materials." He was obviously trying to make Rodney appear dangerous and unstable, and undermine his accusations that way.

"Yes, if I'd actually been part of the military industrial complex, and had full access to everything... Oh, wait, I didn't. What I built was as much a working model as the architect's model for a house. I wasn't reading the scale properly and there were a host of other issues with my *science fair* project. Like, that I made it with spare parts from the car, and a radio."

The lawyer didn't seem interested in the explanation. Instead he shifted topic. "Tell me, Rodney... You're close to your brother, aren't you?"

"He's my twin," Rodney agreed. "We finish each other’s sentences. Of course I'm close to him."

"That's very close," the lawyer said blandly. "Tell me, Rodney, would you regard your relationship with your brother as... normal?"

"My therapist says we're 'co-dependent'. That I need to think on my own without considering Grant first. So, maybe not. Carson and his brothers argue and things." He shifted, because the balls of his feet hurt.

"Hmm. Rodney, have you had sex with your brother?" the lawyer said slyly.

Yes, yes, but it was *bad*, but it was also part of their police statements, so he could stop at that point. "In the past. At our mother's request. We don't... do that anymore. It's not..." Rodney waved a hand. "Healthy or anything we're interested in. We're doing the, you know. Crush on a girl you know... thing. It's a nice opportunity."

"But you have had sex with your brother." The lawyer replied, evidently trying to muddy the waters. "Incest. Is it possible that some of the evidence of sexual intercourse with Grant might have nothing to do with your mother, but be more to do with your attentions?"

"She *guided* us," Rodney pointed out, speaking deliberately. "She was there, watching, saying things like 'turn your head' or 'Move this way, I want to see' and 'That's all you're good for.' We hadn't even hit puberty yet. I wanted to be playing with *toys*, or reading books."

"Hmm, I bet you never did anything without direction did you, a meek and mild boy like you undoubtedly were," he said his voice dripping in sarcasm. "Come on Rodney, you committed incest, and your brother is unbalanced enough for that to be evidence of abuse."

"I had incest committed on *me*," Rodney snapped. "Earlier you were trying to argue that my mother was meek and mild enough to be cowed by two *children*, and she's got awards from the firing range that she's a member of. She designs *weapons* for a living. So yes, I'm a smart ass -- it's a defense, and I can use it freely, without fear, because hopefully she's going to go to prison and I won't have to worry about her any longer!"

"You'd say anything to get her into prison, wouldn't you?" The lawyer tried to provoke him further, but it was evident he was trying to weave an impression out of ambiguity.

"I won't lie to get her into prison. The truth is strong enough to put her there. I deserve to lead a normal life, my *brother* deserves to go to college and do whatever he wants and experience new things, like walking down the street and going into stores and being *outside*." He shifted his hands on the railing, keeping his eyes focused on the counsel. He wouldn't look at his mother. *Would* *not*.

That was dismissed as unimportant. "Rodney, any evidence that condemns your mother condemns you also. You should be aware of that." He stepped away. "No further questions, your honor,"

And there was no opportunity to respond to that. Rodney lifted his head, and looked over to the jury for a moment, and hopefully there wouldn't be any more questions.

His lawyer stood then, presumably to do a re-examination. "Rodney, I won't keep you long. There are a few things my colleague here seems to want to cast into confusion and emphasize certain points. Going back a bit; Your mother *saved* your life once, but how many times do you think she endangered it, or Grant's life?"

It was all part of the original presentation, but he was more than happy to restate his point of, oh, *reality*. "I'd guess dozens of times between the two of us. Between neglect and beating us around, dozens. When I was at college, she starved Grant, burned him with, probably, her soldering gun. We never were sure what she used, but it's still a mess of a scar and it was from back in April. Both of us have had broken bones, compound fractures. Grant has a healed skull fracture, and I can't even remember how old we were when that happened. She liked to batter us up against the walls before she re-married."

"As the medical scans confirm,” his lawyer said. "Which is a *fact*, not a supposition. Now, regarding the accusations leveled at your biological father.... your brother has a phenomenal memory does he not?"

"Brilliant. He can recall activities on any given day over a decade back. *My* memory when we were children, is good. Grant's is spectacular." 

"Given that his frame of reference was probably not well developed, did he ever indicate to you that there had been events in the past that led to him being hurt or frightened of your father? Or can you yourself recall anything?" he asked.

"No. My strongest memory of my father is actually my only memory of him. He had Grant and I out at some store, and he bought us a stuffed cat. He didn't have to buy two, because we've always shared. We named it Kitty. Still have it, actually. It's on the windowsill in Grant's room right now." The prosecution lawyer made him feel more relaxed. He had the *state's* best interest in mind, but for the moment the two seemed to be the same.

"Scarcely the act of the monstrous figure the defense has been painting him to be," the lawyer said. "Now then, the matter of mental instability of you and your brother. Has your brother ever hurt anyone in his life, and what do you think your reaction might be if either of you did?"

"Grant used to play with the rats we'd get in the cellar. I mean, named them, and petted them on the head. He'd cried over them if they died in the cellar. I can't imagine him hurting anyone. We're protective of each other, but that's it. For example, we'd try to get in the way if mother was taking out her anger on one of us or the other of us."

"So his instincts are protective. Isn't it true that Grant was the one who managed to fetch help for your foster brother, and phone an ambulance?" It seemed his lawyer could work on creating impressions as well.

"Yes. S-- Our foster mother taught him how, and when it's appropriate." Rodney stayed still, didn't shuffle.

“Not the actions of a person with dangerous violent impulses," the lawyer said. "Now, the business of you apparently manipulating your mother for what you wanted, would you describe completely how it worked. Any incident that comes to mind."

"Of the, the bartering?" He squinted at the lawyer.

"Yes. Particularly consequences of not behaving,” he replied.

It took him a minute, dredging up an old memory. "We were ten. I wanted to give Grant a set of my clothes, and my mother wanted participation in, she..." He had to concentrate, looking pointedly at the lawyer. "She wanted us to fuck, after Grant, uh, performed what I later learned is called fellatio. On her. We, he did that, and we started to try the other, but it hurt, so I stopped. And she broke my arm. And Grant didn't get clothes. And after we came back from the hospital, she smacked both of us around, for having weak bones that cost her money."

"And did you tell her that it wasn't something you wanted in any way?" the lawyer sad.

"Repeatedly. And when I went from telling her I didn't want to, to outright refusing, she broke my arm. She used the doorjamb between her workroom and our room as leverage and just..." Rodney waved his hand. "Snapped it like a pencil."

The lawyer nodded. "And you were ten years old and not even into puberty. It would be more than a stretch to say you "wanted" that. At that age sexual desire on your part would not be a factor. Would it be fair to say that you were forced to satiate her unnatural and unlawful desires to get the basic staples of human existence?"

"Food, clothes, heat for Grant. We shouldn't have had to *do* that, but she said it was all we were good for." And Jeannie had gotten everything she wanted, no strings attached, but he wasn't bringing her into it.

"And the pair of you demonstrated multiple injuries and illnesses due to this... treatment?" the lawyer asked what should've been a rhetorical question.

"Yes." Obviously. Who in their right mind would want to have to fight and *do* that for every simple thing?

"And do you think the fact that you are intelligent enabled you to do anything about this situation?" his lawyer asked

"Eventually, we got away. That was the best I ever managed. Because one of the neighbors called 911. I couldn't out-think the threats." Rodney still berated himself sometimes that he hadn't been able to get them out of there sooner.

"I think people sometimes forget that you are only just sixteen aren't you Rodney? What were your children be doing at age 16? Not being at college, not rescuing their abused twin, not dealing with any of this."

"I don't mind college," Rodney smiled. "But the rest of it. I, *we* are still learning what normal is. I couldn't say what other children do at age 16. Go out. Date. Go to movies. Hang out places. I'm just guessing."

And that he pretty much knew from Carson.

"And that is the point right there." His lawyer said. "You have not had a normal upbringing and yet despite that you have become a young man who excels academically, who is protective and self-sacrificing for his brother, who has had the burden of a terrible responsibility at a young age, and who has been betrayed fundamentally by your parents, family, and society in general. My colleague makes a great deal of you getting what you want, and you manipulating things to get that. Tell me, Rodney, what is it that *you* want? Not what the counsel tells us you want."

Oh, hell, even his therapist knew he struggled with that. "I want... Grant to go to college, I want us to stay with our current foster family. I, I want to continue going to school. I'd, I want to be left alone to live my life, and try to be normal."

"Good. They are not the ambitions of a narcissist, or a manipulative individual," the lawyer pointed out to the jury. "I beg the indulgence of the court to make one final observation in direct reaction to the counsel's cross-examination of this witness. Contrary to what my esteemed colleague would have you believe, Rodney here is not on trial. His parents are the ones on trial, and he is a witness to the extent of their crimes against him. In fact, he is more than a witness, he is the victim of some truly terrible crimes despite the attempts being made to put *him* on trial for his own suffering." The tone of his lawyers voice made that as ludicrous as it sounded. "No further questions, your honor."

"Witness dismissed." It was a relief, and Rodney moved to exit the wooden box, feeling tired and unsteady and, oh god, his testimony was over.

He almost didn't care right now what happened, because he felt ill and shaky and he just wanted to go home and crawl into bed, and it wouldn't matter that he was alone because he'd know Grant was safe. Shona was there waiting for him, watching and giving support and, much to his amazement, so was Carson even though he knew he shouldn't be out of bed. 

He settled back into his chair, looking at Carson with a little amazement. At least Grant wasn't there. He wouldn't have wanted Grant to be there. "Hi," Rodney whispered, down beside them.

"You did fantastically,” Carson whispered back. "I thought you could use the moral support. That lawyer's a bastard."

"Her first lawyer asked to be dismissed," Rodney told him as quietly as possible, and then there was noise in the place again, his stepfather being called to the stand, and Rodney didn't feel like talking anymore.

He watched as the cross-examination began boiling down to the defense saying he didn't know, he couldn't possibly know, he was horrified about the whole thing, that he'd been told that Rodney had been dumped on their door step by a callous evil man and had assumed that his strange behavior was to do with that, not with abuse from his own wife.

The prosecution went in with all guns blazing about how could he miss a fake room in his own house, the injuries to his step-son, the way he was treated, all of that.

It made Rodney's head hurt, and he didn't, couldn't say anything to it. He wished he could leave, but they closed off, and the Judge dismissed court for the day, reminding the Jury to not discuss it with anyone.

He wasn't even sure what there was to talk about.

It seems so obvious, so spurious all the pathetic attempts to make it something than it was.

"Time to go home Rodney," Shona murmured. "Carson, lovey, are you feeling all right?"

"I could do with somewhere more comfortable," Carson replied. "I think I've seized up."

"Sofa back at the house," Rodney declared, standing up, hoping to get lost in the crowd. It was the walk from the courthouse to the *car* that was so damn harrowing.

But they couldn't move fast because Carson really wasn't kidding about seizing up and needed help, and that meant helping him down the steps with his arm over his shoulder and the media descending on them en masse. Shona was clearing a path for them, but they were still hurling ridiculous questions at him.

Had his brother really never seen the sky until a few months ago. Had he had sex with his mother and brother. What did he think of his mother’s accusations, did he believe his stepfather...

"Leave him alone," Carson tried shoo-ing them away flapping his arm in a sling ineffectually at them. "He's had a hard day." He staggered at a surge from the crowd and nearly collapsed into him and there was just a moment as his arm curled around him protectively, instinctively, and he was checking to see if he was okay when the photographers there went crazy. They knew a good picture when they saw one and as Rodney wasn’t growing horns and a tail, these things weren't going to demonize him anymore.

"Shoo, we're trying to get home. Leave us alone." He stayed close to Carson, close to Shona, concentrating on getting home to Grant, and he wanted to go home to Grant and just, oh, god, *people*. People who didn't want to hurt him or make his life weird and fucked up. 

They made it to the car, eventually although they practically fell in the back seat together and it was going to be a long journey back because Shona never took a direct route home from court, just in case.

"Aw bloody hell," Carson groaned as they started off. "They suck."

"Carson, watch your language."

"Suck's only a close cousin of a bad word," Rodney defended as he settled and grabbed his seat belt. "That was bad."

"Aye, it was," Carson agreed slumping in the back seat. "I don't know how you stood it.

"I want her to go to prison is how I stood it." Rodney closed his eyes, and let his head lull back against the headrest. 

"Well I wanted to thump her," Carson said with unusual vehemence.

"You weren't the only one," Shona said from the front. "She has a lot of gall. They'll try an insanity plea now, I bet you."

"Probably." He didn't want to think about it, because hey, maybe she'd get out and hunt him and Grant down? And he hoped they'd be bigger by then, but it'd done their father a hell of a lot of good, being bigger and stronger.

"That won't work," Carson said suddenly. "That's not going to happen."

"You can't be sure of that, sweetheart," his mother said and Carson shook his head.

"No, I'm pretty sure. She does top secret weapons research for the government. Now, what's worse to them? Employing a completely insane psycho, or employing someone who knew what they were doing and was clever enough to hide it. Which person would you prefer to admit you had employed to do your high yield weaponry?"

It was... rather amazingly, an astute observation.

Rodney snorted, though, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Government can't change the Jury's mind, though."

"No, but they can get to a lawyer before their summing up," Carson said. "Bet you."

He seemed very confident about the whole thing.

"... Maybe. We'll see. I just want it to be over, and soon." Rodney slouched, letting his eyes drift out the window. "How bad are you feeling, Carson?"

"Truthfully?" Carson said. "Aches like buggery."

"Carson, you know that has a completely different meaning over here than when your father uses it," his mother said.

It at least caught Rodney off guard, and he lifted a hand up to his mouth. "I'm pretty sure there's just the one meaning."

"In Scotland and over there, it's a wee bit different. It's a mild curse word. But if you say 'fanny' over there you are effectively referring to female genitalia," Shona replied with a faint smile. "Carson sometimes forgets himself. Now, I said we would get food on the way home. What would you like Rodney?"

"I, uh. Burgers?" Rodney asked a little hopefully. Aches like buggery. Hah, not that Carson would know. "We're getting for Grant and Lachlan, too, right?"

"Yes, lovey," she said. "We can get whatever you want because you've certainly had a hard day."

Well, then. "Burgers. And the onion rings. And a milkshake?" He shifted, pulling at his seat belt a little.

She nodded and immediately started on a route to get them there. Carson yawned a little and leaned into him a little, seeming to have no problem making himself comfortable on him. It was reassuring in a way; Carson evidently did not believe the rubbish that the lawyer had been spouting, not if he wanted to be this close.

That was good. He supposed it didn't matter if the jury thought that, as long as Carson didn't. As long as Carson, and his parents and Grant didn't think it, they were all all right.

 

His mother had been beside herself, not wanting Grant or Rodney to be alone on verdict day, and despite the fact he had over done it on his first visit to the court, Carson immediately volunteered to go with Rodney when his father had to go in to do some emergency surgery that couldn't be postponed. There was no way he was letting Rodney only have his social worker there as support. This time he got to actually sit next to him and had been allowed the good painkillers. They were right, it did hurt more days after the injury.

He was personally looking forward to a nice couple of days of not much at all. The Jury had stated that they were going to give their verdict, and there was nothing to do but sit and wait, because they were going to come out soon.

He kept looking over at Rodney's mother, his stepfather. She looked as cold as ice and implacable. She gave him the shivers, knowing what she had done and she still expected to get away with it. The defense counsel had pulled out every stop to make it sound like it was all Rodney's instability or failing that she was mentally disturbed as well, but he couldn't see that they would ignore the evidence. It was overwhelming in a lot of respects.

They'd even dragged out the contractor who'd installed the door, who thought an amateur had clearly done the flooring. Most importantly, when he'd offered to jackhammer it up and repour her uneven floor, she'd snapped at him with what he'd felt was unjustified anger. It just, there was too much and it all added up. Or at least Carson hoped it added up. Rodney was sitting very stiffly beside him, watching the judge.

All eyes turned when the door opened and the jury started to file out, and Carson reached there to take hold of Rodney's hand so he could give some measure of silent support. He found himself trying to read their answer in their faces but finding nothing there. He guessed they just wanted to get it over with now and go home to their own lives.

Their lives had been disrupted, Carson supposed, but not as much as their own, as his, as Rodney and Grant's. It was a shame Grant wasn't there, but Rodney had asked if he wanted to go, and he hadn't. Too many people, people in his space.

He could understand that. It was overwhelming enough for him let alone grant who had literally only seen two people in his life before he had come out of that hellhole. 

"Foreman of the jury, do you have a verdict?" he heard the Judge ask.

"The jury has reached a verdict. On the count of Murder in the first of her husband, Simon Anthony McKay, the defendant was found guilty. On the charges of grievous bodily harm to both of her sons, the defendant was found guilty. On the charges of forced sexual activity with a minor under the age of 12, the defendant was found guilty. On the charges of..." And Rodney was squeezing Carson's hand hard enough to crush it, so he barely paid attention to the brief 'not-guilty' charge that the Jury foreman rattled off. It didn't matter -- she'd been found guilty of enough that it might keep her away for forever.

There was muttering and murmuring from the court at the end of their litany and Carson leaned over to Rodney and murmured. "It's over Rodney, you're safe now, and it’s over."

Rodney waved him off, though, and leaned forwards in his seat, paying attention to the Judge, because the defense was asking for her to be put out on bail until she appealed, and she was denied. Sentencing would occur on a later date, and Rodney just sagged back.

"You okay?" Carson asked even as the room around them erupted into people shaking hands and talking about what had just happened. His hand felt a bit crushed and he dreaded to think what Rodney might do to himself.

"Yeah." The rest of the courtroom was standing up, because the judge had declared it dismissed. Rodney stood, unsteadily, and Carson could see that his eyes were tracking his mother.

She was being taken away and Carson had no idea how that would feel, to watch someone who had been so cruel but still at the end of the day was Rodney's mother being led away to await sentencing to jail. "Do you want to..." Carson hesitated. Maybe Rodney wanted to say something, or maybe he just wanted to leave.

It didn't surprise him that Rodney turned, heading towards the main doors to leave. "Let's go. I want to get some coffee to go, and tell Grant the good news."

"Okay. You going to be okay to drive?" Not that he could do anything to help if he wasn't but if necessary they would get a taxi home. His mum had told him that much.

Rodney was stubborn, though. "Yeah, I'm okay." He sounded weird, shaky, but he was pulling his car keys out, had them in hand when they started out of the courtroom and down the hallway. "I don't know what my therapist is going to have to talk about anymore."

Carson had to struggle to keep up, because it hurt like hell. "I'm sure you'll find something. She'll probably ask you how you feel."

"Whatever happens in prison still won't be near to what happened to us. In prison, she has a *right* to food and books and nothing cruel and unusual punishment." Rodney slowed down, just a little, which was a small blessing.

"I know Rodney." He paused a little. "But child abusers don't do well in prison." He shrugged a little. What else could he say?"

"She's a woman. She's smart. She'll have the place wrapped around her finger." Rodney sounded miserable while he said it, still walking resolutely. "I, I'm glad she's going away. We're safe."

"Aye, you are. And you're staying with us," Carson said. "And Grant will go to college and I will be soon enough as well and it will be fine."

"Yeah." They stepped outside, into the light and the stupid, blasted stairs that they had to get down, which was hard when there were people in their way. "Not answering any questions, have a nice day."

Still, they babbled at them, pushed at them and Carson glared at the reporters. The picture of him and Rodney close and clinging on the steps from their last attempt to exit the place had been all over the papers, along with sympathetic stories. 

"Rodney...Rodney McKay, how does it feel that your mother is going to jail?"

"Rodney, how do you feel that your step-father is going free? Do you think that was the correct verdict?"

That was a sore spot and Carson knew it. "He never did a thing, so yeah, sure." Rodney tried to get down another step, moving with sheer force. "Hey, can you get out of our way? I need to get home."

"Rodney are you and your brother relieved it is over?" he was asked and Carson tried to help him push his way through as well, using his arm in a sling as a means of getting them to back off.

"Please, he's tired and he wants to get home to tell his brother the news," he said.

"Of course we're relieved!" Rodney snapped, ducking in close to Carson. Jesus, they were following them off of the steps and down the street and they'd probably get followed to the parking lot, where there was always a 75% chance that Rodney's car might stall for the fun of it.

The jostling was getting very uncomfortable and Carson ended up with an arm around Rodney half to protect him and half to keep himself upright even as they effectively fled the area. He had no idea what he said, or did but he would've done anything to away from that place.

"This is why we didn't bring Grant," Rodney muttered, opening his car door hastily, and pushing back a newspaper journalist.

"I know," Carson said and then gasped a little clutching his side as he managed to get in and shut the door. "Bloody hell..."

Rodney leaned over, and hastily buckled Carson's seatbelt. "Screw coffee, we're going home." Carson could see Rodney twisting, moving to look back behind them, and he started his car up. "I hope they move."

"If you hear a bump... you'll know otherwise," Carson managed. Bastard, bastard people. As if things weren't hard enough. That last jostle made him feel quite ill, but it was fading off.

Rodney stayed twisted around, and then honked his horn sharply before the last person behind him moved. It was miserably cold in the car, which wasn't going to help his muscles, and the heat would probably be working by the time they got home.

Thank god the car started, and they were actually moving now although maybe letting Rodney drive was a mistake from the way he was trying to get them out of there. He let things pass in silence for a while if only to get his breath back and to get some distance away before saying quietly. "You're not all right are you?"

"No." Rodney shifted his fingers on the steering wheel while they came to a light, and he reached over to turn on the heat. "Now what?"

"Right now?" Carson said, "or a general sort of what now?"

“Now, tomorrow, both. Everyone knows. I didn't tell anyone at college, I, I don't *like* people knowing what happened." 

"Well, I know that. You didn't want to tell me things and I'm pretty sure you haven't told me all of it," Carson said. "You know you can if you want right?."

"I don't know what there is to tell you. It took most of my brainpower to just order things into a timeline for the prosecution." Rodney was tense, but he seemed to be paying attention.

"Well, stuff. Things," Carson gestured a little. "It'll come up. I've never seen you or Grant cry."

Rodney would've crossed his arms if he hadn't been driving. "There isn't anything to cry over."

Carson wanted to say there was plenty. Loss of his mother, loss of innocence, loss of everything and being hurt. Instead he shrugged a little. "Maybe it's just me. Guess I am as much of a wuss as Collin says."

"We weren't allowed to cry. And I couldn't, because it upset Grant. Still would." Rodney stopped for another light, eyes focused on it. "So, it's over. She's going away. I... We're free."

"It'll take a while to sink in I think," Carson said. "Do you want to celebrate in some way? What would you most like to do?"

"I don't know." Rodney tilted his head up, looked at the light. "Sometimes I think I'm just a reaction to Grant. That there's nothing else, that I'm hollow. I like my research, my studies, but..."

"You're more than that Rodney," Carson said. "More than a reaction, you are your own individual but you've sacrificed a lot of yourself to protect him. But you're clever, and caring, you have music and friends and...and you're not hollow. I can tell you that."

"I want things I shouldn't want. I still miss, I what I had with Grant. We still sleep together, sometimes. But it's just sleeping. Just being close, so I know he's safe, because sometimes, I'm not sure that he's okay. I don't think he misses it. I think he's maybe..." Rodney shifted over a lane, still precise, still a careful driver. "More normal than I am."

Carson laughed a little to himself at that. "No Rodney, he's not. I love him to pieces but he has a very different outlook on things. I think that maybe he's used to people telling him that he should behave this way or that way so he just tries to do it automatically."

And Rodney was quiet for a minute, worrisomely so. "I don't know. He's more independent than I am."

Carson opened his mouth and then shut it again. "How do you figure that Rodney? seriously?"

"I'm just a construction that's developed out of being Grant's other half. I've been thinking about it -- and you can blame my therapist, because my tolerance for navel gazing is usually non-existent -- and if something happened to him, if... She asked me what I'd do if I woke up and Grant was dead or gone tomorrow. Or he suddenly didn't need me or want me around. And I know that the answer she wants is 'Oh, I'd have some trouble adjusting, but I'd be all right', and that's the sort of shit I say. But I don't have *anything* but Grant. I'm just a shell. And he's, he has wants and interests that never occurred to me, and it's shocking. I don't have that." Without much warning except the sound of his turn blinker, Rodney pulled off the road, and parked before resting his forehead on the steering wheel. "Fuck."

"Hey, hey... Rodney," Carson reached over to him awkwardly. "That's not a fair question for you, but you do have wants and interests of your own, I'm sure you do. How about your friends? Michelle, George, Lewis and Liz? Your music, special relationships. You're saying you don't have them, and I don't think that's true. I think that maybe ...they don't feel very important compared to him.

He wasn't sure what to do, and Rodney didn't move from his position, and Carson could feel his ribs arguing over the extra movement. "I can't, I can't separate myself from him, but he's okay, he can. I don't know what to do."

"Look, Rodney...Maybe you've got the wrong end of the stick," Carson said. "You don't have to be alone, or on your own or give Grant up. I think they recognized how much self-sacrifice has been going on and they are trying to encourage you to find your own way. Well, that's not going to happen overnight, or even in a few months. No matter what, family is always a part of your life, and twins... well, twins have an even more intense bond."

He still couldn't see Rodney's face, but he could feel him suck in an unsteady breath. "I don't know what the next step is."

Instinctively he reached as his mother did to smooth at the hair on the nape of Rodney’s neck. "Aye, well I can help you there," Carson said. "Tonight, we go home, we tell Grant and everyone what happened, and tomorrow you wake up in the morning and face your first day not having to protect anyone 24/7. And you think, what would I like to do today and then do it."

"I think I have to finish a reading response for one of my teachers." He hadn't been able to go to class, but the teachers were working with him, and he doubted that Rodney *was* going to go back that semester. Too close to the end, too much attention on the trial. "And a paper."

"If you want to do that, then do it," Carson said. "I could probably join you with the stuff I'm missing if I don't sleep the whole day."

Rodney sat up, moving slowly, and wiped at his eyes with his fingers for a minute. "Okay. Saturday, Grant wants to go to garage sales to look for more Mechano bits. Just... keep it in mind." Rodney had probably promised.

"Is that what you want to do on Saturday?" Carson asked still stroking at the back of Rodney's neck in mindless comforting motions while a part of him was practically shouting at him about what the hell he thought he was doing.

"Plan time for a nervous breakdown." Rodney looked over at Carson out of the corner of his eye. "No, it's actually not a bad plan. I just wouldn't mind backup."

"If you don't mind slowing up for me," Carson said. "I'm a wee bit slow right now. " Stiff, sore and his ribs made it difficult to breathe deeply.

"Yeah, no problem." Rodney's expression seemed to brighten up a little at Carson's agreement and Saturday was still a couple of days away.

"Grant's part of the family now, like you. And that means he's not just your responsibility anymore," Carson said. "You feeling a little more steady now?

Rodney wiped at his eyes again, one last time. "Yeah. Let's go home."

Carson nodded and settled back into his seat properly. It wasn't going to be easy for Rodney or Grant, but one of the major obstacles was out of the way now and maybe he could move on and start living his own life.


	2. Chapter 2

Halloween had been a week later, and while there'd been no dressing up Jeannie for going out, Grant had dressed up as a cardboard box robot, complete with blinking lights, and had handed out candy to all of the kids who came to the door. They'd had Rocky Horror Picture Show on TV, and Rodney had sort of delighted in that. Just watching it -- bad and campy and *weird*, and Grant had liked the music. He wondered if it was some kind of subliminal message from Lachlan to Rodney that he'd found that flier from the coffee shop.

The coffee shop was the best place in town to *find* things. Groups, people, they put up fliers for things like tag sales and parties and book clubs. Liz had found a knitting group that was people who were pretty young and knitted, and George mostly perused them and scoffed, but Lewis had pointed the one out to Rodney about the Halloween party, and he'd taken one of the fliers home. Just a Halloween party at a gay bathhouse, when Rodney hadn't known that things like that *existed*. He'd had to look bathhouse up in an encyclopedia at the library while Grant collected Garfield books to check out. Going to the party hadn't been an option, but...

Rodney still had the address to the place.

There had been a growing urge, a need to do something, try something because no matter all the words that Carson said to him, he felt hollow inside and there was an itch in him that needed to be scratched, if only to prove his sexuality wasn't irrevocably wired to incest.

Because if he only got *really* turned on with his brother, he was in trouble and needed more help than he'd thought. Lewis was... interesting. Rodney was clearly an experiment for him, though, and they hadn't gotten very far. And Rodney wasn't pushing because he liked Lewis' company too much to lose it.

He didn't have enough friends to ever risk them. Which was why he was never going to make any sort of move on Carson.

So tonight, instead of heading to the Coffee Shop, he was heading to a gay bathhouse with the less than stellar name 'Millennium'.

He'd traveled light -- car keys, ID, license, money. Nothing more, nothing too important. He'd brought a towel, and flip-flops, and hoped that he was at least trying to observe the rules. It seemed about right, bringing a towel and flip-flops. The problem had been getting them out of the house and into his car without anyone seeing. So, he'd done it two days ago and kept them in his trunk.

He managed to gain entrance to the bathhouse by virtue of dressing older than he was, and flashing a university ID . People assumed a certain age with those, either that or they didn't really care too much.

It was a whole other world in there, a new and interesting one as he tried to follow everyone’s lead about what to do.

He walked down the dingy hallway after he'd paid his fee, and it was kind of surprising that the place got *less* dingy once he was inside, and standing in the tile-floored locker-room. The walls were lined with coin-lockers, and from the way other people were moving, he guessed that was where he was supposed to strip off.

There were some guys in there eyeing him up already, some a lot older, some young enough to be close to his age that they might be barely legal. Some already in pairs.

He started to disrobe a little self-consciously.

The whole *point* was to be looked at and seen, and he hoped he was, but at the same time, he didn't want to just be dismissed. So Rodney concentrated on moving in as cool a fashion as he could muster. He pulled his shirt off, then sat on a bench to take his shoes off, not particularly looking at anyone.

He listened to the locker room chatter, about the various rooms. Things regulars knew like keeping a towel on while walking around between rooms, what rooms were open, what doors meant when they were closed. He just hoped that when he did go into the baths and sauna someone might be interested enough to approach him.

Because his nerves were wound too tight to *do* any approaching, but he hoped he could exude the come on hard air enough. Once he had his shoes off, he stood up and started to shimmy out of his jeans.

"Hey," a guy who was in his mid twenties was getting undressed beside him. "New here?" He was pretty obvious in his approach, but also not bad looking.

"Yeah. I've uh. Never been to a bath house before." Rodney threw in a smile that he hoped was confident, and he slid his boxers down.

"You'll like it." the man said confidently. "Nice ass," he commented. "Name's Al."

Possibly, Rodney decided as he wrapped a towel around himself, and tucked it in at the edge, he might be better off going by a different name. "I'm Mer," he said, stuffing everything except a coin into the locker.

"Well Mer, want me to show you the ropes?" Al said with a half smirk. "I won't keep you if your attention wanders elsewhere. I like the meet and greet."

He half wanted to explore all by himself, but... "Sure." Rodney slipped the coin in, and took the key for his locker.

They headed off towards the baths, and true to his word Al pointed out where everything was before they entered one of the chambers and Al stripped off completely. "Come and meet some of my friends Mer."

There was a low sort of pool, and the water was steamy. There were guys in the water, other guys, and Rodney was slow to take his towel off. "Hi."

"Hey guys, this is Mer," Al said. "He's new here."

He slipped into the water, smiling a little.

"He looks new to pretty much everything," an older man said with a smirk. "Here alone kid?"

"Yeah." Rodney moved to sit in the water, just so he was a little less on display. "I thought I should give this place a try, once I heard about it."

Relax, he had to relax but there was a whole host of them just watching him, aside from the two at the far end apparently making out a little. He wasn't sure if that was allowed.

"It's good if you've got an itch you want to scratch, if you know what I mean," another man said and laughed a little. "Plenty of opportunities here if that's what you're looking for."

He was looking to 'scratch' that itch, but the guys there seemed... he wasn't sure. Not his type, not that Rodney knew if he had a type. They all looked a little lecherous -- it had to be possible to be there for some casual sex without looking like slavering dogs, wasn’t it? Rodney sank into the water a little more, up to his chest, trying to relax. "I'm still thinking about what exactly I want."

"Oh, a bit of experimentation huh?" Al asked pleasantly enough. "Well, there'll be a queue in for that."

"You hear Jack's in tonight?" another man said, obviously not interested that much in Rodney and more with local gossip.

"You're kidding? I wouldn't've thought he'd have the stamina," Al replied distracted. "Maybe he's looking for someone new?"

"Hah, yeah in your dreams. The man's a sex-god or something."

The older man snorted. "I've heard he looks good but's a lousy lay."

Local gossip was the last thing Rodney was interested in, so he glanced over to Al -- who was young, close enough to Rodney's own age. Do-able. Not as compelling as Lewis, but not bad. Rodney wished he'd done a better job of *looking*, and less time being embarrassed to be there, naked. "I'd sort of like to experiment, yeah. I'd like to get overwhelmed."

"Really?" Al seemed a bit surprised at that. "Some sort've fantasy of yours?" 

The others were carrying on their gossip about who was fucking who and what they were doing.

Rodney knew what Grant looked like when he flushed red, so he was pretty sure he looked the same. "Yeah, it's a fantasy of mine. You have to have a few fantasies, huh?"

"Hell yeah," Al said. "Look, you want that, we can... arrange it, but why don't we just hang out a bit. Evening's young, and that sorta thing should be a climax right?"

It was hard for Rodney to not really grin when Al seemed to settle into the idea. "Sure. It'd certainly make for a great night." He sank into the water, and relaxed. The water was warm, almost hot, and he was sitting in a naked bath with complete strangers and not freaking out. Naked strangers who may or may not play with his ass.

He tried to not dwell too hard on that, and decided to make small talk with Al and the others -- the usual thing, names that he'd never remember, vague suggestions of jobs that he'd never remember. Al was a 'student', though Rodney was willing to bet that he was a fine arts guy.

He seemed up front and nice enough and they even touched a little, deliberately and as the night went on, he relaxed in his company, even went with him to peek in on some of the rooms that welcomed voyeurs.

Watching other people have sex made his dick tent out the towel a little. There was one guy who was sliding himself up and down on some other guy's dick like it was a pogo stick. Rodney had to reach down and slip a hand between the flap of his towel to sort of guide down his dick. There was another room where a younger guy was getting flattened onto a bed, just battered, and Rodney wondered what that *felt* like. And now that they were in the separate rooms area of things, Rodney knew that they'd find an empty room, soon.

Sure enough, Al led him off somewhere away from the main area and told him to hold on as he fetch some others. It wasn't anywhere fancy and it was a little nerve wracking just waiting until people drifted in. More people than he had considered, standing in the dim light.

He'd grabbed a bunch of condoms, and there were little packets of lube, and he'd decided to just ... not let his nerves get to him. There were, at a quick headcount, eight guys. Well, looking at it logically... "Who wants to start?"

One of the older guys from the back pushed forward and okay, he wasn't someone Rodney might've selected but he was beyond that now. He wanted to do this, do something.

He barely registered movement by the door as the older guy was gripping him and then a voice saying, "What the hell do you think you're all doing?"

A man walked in naked, totally uninhibited as if he had every right to interrupt.

"Fulfilling a fantasy, Jack " Al spoke up. "Mer's fantasy."

"Are you all blind?" 'Jack' replied. "Seriously, you're going to gangbang a *virgin ass*?"

Okay, that was a little assuming. He wasn't a *virgin*. He'd, he and Grant had done that. He knew enough to know that he choked back a laugh every time Lachlan or Carson said 'hurts like buggery' because it didn't hurt and it did and that was just too much information for either of them. "Hey, uh, do I get to be involved in this conversation?"

Some of the men were looking a bit discomfited, others looked all the more eager.

Al shifted. "Mer? Tell me you've done this sort of thing before right?"

"Just, uh. One guy. A few times." One guy that he really trusted, and maybe, maybe it had been a bad idea, but still. He *wanted* to.

Al paled a little. "Shit... I..uh. I thought... you seemed to up for it..."

"He can still be up for it," one of the older men said getting closer. "Not all of us back off just because Harkness says so. The boy wants it, the boy is gonna get it."

"Yeah, I don't think so." The man called Jack walked over to put himself between Rodney and the others. "Sorry fellas, no rape for you tonight. "

That was really un-called for -- after all, he was *there*, he was *asking*, he was pretty damn sure that it wasn't rape. But the gang was starting to break up, and Rodney's hopes for the night sort of sank. Shit, what was he supposed to do? Say 'no, hey, I really *do* want it', except not so much. There were a couple of those older guys who had that look in their eyes that bothered him, where-as Al didn't. "I *was* up for it. Dammit."

The man who had effectively spoiled everything turned around and he really was ridiculously good looking. "No, kid, you weren't. Sit down, I think we need a bit of a talk, and god help me if anyone who knew me heard me talking about responsible sex... The irony might kill them."

Older than Rodney, without a doubt, but his face seemed easy going, and his hair was short, brown and a little wild. Rodney kept his eyes on the man, and sort of subtly groped for his towel so he could cover himself again. "A *talk*?"

The 'gang' was breaking up, heading out, and Al sort of lingered in the doorway. It made Rodney almost want to apologize. Almost.

"A talk," the man repeated firmly and looked over to Al. "You can hook up with him another time... and just check a bit more next time okay?" he said to Al who nodded and disappeared.

Whoever this guy was he had enough of a reputation to see off a gang of eight guys with just his say so. There was a bit of an edge to him. "Look...Mer, right? Look, that whole thing could've gone really bad on you. You've got to be more careful about hits sort've thing."

Rodney rubbed at his face, and decided to study the wall for at least a few seconds. "I don't see how it could've gone badly."

"Oh, right... You wanted to end up in an emergency room with internal bleeding?" Jack asked. "Believe me, that's what would've happened with that group. I'm not exaggerating - I've done pretty much something of everything you can imagine and yeah, that's happened to me. This guy you've been with? Your sort've age and likes you? Well these guys are bigger, older and... well they don't particularly need to like you."

He slouched a little, finally looking over to Jack. "I just told Al I wanted to be overwhelmed. I was looking for something..." He waved one hand a little. "Intense. Are you seriously lecturing me while wearing a towel?"

Jack arched an eyebrow at him. "I could take it off. And there are safer ways to be overwhelmed Mer," he said and grinned at him, the smile dazzling. "You don't need 8 guys for that... just one really, really good one." He spread his hands as if to say ‘and here he is’ in a self mocking fashion.

If this 'Jack' guy was half as good at it as he *looked*, then it was little wonder why the guys in the bath had talked about him so much. "Is... that an offer?"

"Could be, because I'm pretty sure you're going to keep coming back until you get something,” Jack said. "And you're young and trying to push something out of your head. That sort've thing doesn't just vanish because someone says so."

For a moment his eyes looked a lot older than he had any right to be. "You want experience, I've got more experience than all the brothels and bathhouses in Canada."

"Somehow I don't think there's that many of them," Rodney snorted, but he sort of awkwardly shuffled his towel off of his lap again. "You're really, really good looking, so it's believable, though."

“Possibly the only believable thing about me," Jack answered smiling at him and then he purposefully lay back and sprawled. "You wanna tell me what's got you so hot for it?"

Not really, but he was a quick enough thinker to come up with a good half-truth. "I've had a bad month, and the guy I used to, uh, be with" -- and if possible, he wasn't sure that he could've used *more* immature and childish comparisons -- "we're not allowed to be together anymore. It's been months, and I miss being physical with another person."

"Mm, well that I can oblige with. Do you top or bottom?" he asked.

"I usually bottom." Just from Grant's preference, and somewhere it had become his own. Grant didn't like anything near his ass, and Rodney understood why, so it just hadn't ever been any other way.

Jack propped himself up on an elbow. "Ever tried topping? " he asked. "Sometimes it's easier to start out with someone that way around if you know your own tolerances."

Rodney shifted, trying to get himself to relax. "I'm not really sure I could. I, uh, have some hang-ups." 

"Mm." There was something about the tone of Jack's murmur that made it obvious he had an idea of what he was talking about. "What do you know you like?” he asked and reached out a hand to draw him closer.

Okay, the hand was nice. Rodney shifted, and reached a hand out to stroke Jack's side, letting his fingers slide over muscle and skin. "I know I like... touching, exploring. I like a lot of foreplay." Which, if he thought about it, he wasn't sure he'd been going to get with the earlier idea. "I, uh. Like giving blowjobs."

"Then you'll always be popular," Jack said with a smile. "Come and explore - not going to stop you."

"Okay." Rodney closed his eyes for a minute, to psych himself up, and he laughed when he opened his eyes, leaning to press a kiss to Jack's chest. "Yeah, uh. I probably wasn't ready for what I got myself into. I'm nervous just doing this."

"Glad to see I can reduce people to quivering nerves just by lying here," Jack replied and his warm hands were ghosting over Rodney's skin. "Some guys... don't have very wholesome tastes. Later you might figure you want to try things like that but even I'd think twice about that. Do you want to give me a proper kiss?"

He didn't answer with a 'yes', because it was easier to shift, leaning up a little to kiss Jack's mouth. Just tentative, just exploring. At least, that was his starting goal.

It soon progressed because Jack could sure as hell kiss back. It started slow and built to a crescendo of contact in a way guaranteed to make his head spin as he pressed against him and supported the back of his head and neck with one hand while smoothing him with the other.

Tongue was the focal point of it -- the other guy, Jack, whoever, his *tongue* in Rodney's mouth, sliding in and out in a mimicry of fucking that sent twinges down to Rodney's balls.

"Not bad," Jack murmured breaking for air. "Not bad at all. You're a pretty good kisser. Remember to... explore a little." He moved in and kissed him again.

Give back, give as good as he took, kissing Jack again and remembering to move his hands, tracing Jack's body, feeling the suggestion or ribs, the muscles above and below, smooth skin, but still different. Age made a difference.

There was more bulk there, even lean and muscled and there was something addictive about kissing like that, breaking enough to inhale air and then diving back in. Jack was exploring his body at the same time as he was experimenting with him. 

"Gorgeous," Jack said and smiled. "Have you ever had a blowjob Rodney?"

"Yeah. I have. I wouldn't say no to one.” Rodney shifted a little, leaned back far enough to look at Jack.

"How about we do that to loosen you up and save mine for the main event?" Jack suggested even as he twisted to move position. "You know, you can't ever have too much foreplay with these things."

Rodney shifted, stretched to lie on his back while Jack moved, a swapping of position. "No, you really can't. I, I guess I thought since I offered I had to... go through with it. Them, not you. You're no-pressure."

"Mer," Jack looked up at him. "You can always say no. To anything, and if people don't respect that, it's rape. You have the right to change your mind. If you get into the bondage stuff, you have the right to safeword at any moment. That's what it's all about."

"What's a safeword?" Rodney kept touching Jack while he asked that, sliding his thumb over to rub against a nipple.

"Mm, something you might need to know about," Jack said kissing up his thighs and talking between kisses. "Some people like to have sex where they are tied and unable to move, or even mixed with pain, or have a desire to submit or make others submit. In a situation like that, the one who is helpless has a safeword as opposed to just saying no or stop, because that might be part of the fun. Sex is a pretty complicated with more variations than you'd believe."

"No, I'd believe it. I want to learn some of the better ones." The kisses to his thighs made his dick hard, and he could feel it with every heartbeat, echoing like a second beat. "Oh, god."

"Mmm," Jack nuzzled at his cock, and licked at it as if tasting it for flavor. Then he settled in for the serious business of sucking him.

*That* was new. That, that feeling was determined and new, and Rodney wanted to move, squirmed up into Jack's mouth, and then he leaned up, onto his elbows, because just a quick sight of Jack's lips wrapped around his dick was fantastic.

Half the time he was memorizing what he was doing, the rest of the time he was awash with pleasure at the heat and the movement and oh god, he wanted it to last forever.

It wasn't going to. Nothing lasted forever, but it could linger, and he wanted *that*, he wanted to feel it linger. It was different when a guy knew what he was doing, when he wanted to *be* there, when he wanted to thrust his hips upwards and drive the moment himself.

Jack was doing things that felt fantastic, that he wanted to know how to do even as he started moving despite his best efforts to not to. To his surprise that just seemed to spur the other man onwards as if he was delighted by the evidence of his need.

Huh. He was used to *not* reacting, to keeping it quiet, to keeping it hidden, to *being* quiet, and Jack seemed to like the more motion side of things, and the more Jack sucked and slurped and pressed his tongue against the head of Rodney's dick. "Please, please..."

He was doing things, touching his balls at the same time and slipping fingers back there in a teasing fashion and that was stirring a completely different need in him.

He wanted Jack to push those fingers in, wanted Jack to do all of the lead up to and then fuck him. "Yeah, that's that feels good."

Jack removed his mouth from his cock a moment and looked up at him with a surprisingly boyish expression of mischief. "Some people don't like to be fingered while they're having a blow job." He deliberately huffed over Rodney’s wet cock and the drying moisture set all sorts of sensations to the pit of his stomach as Jack reached for the lube to coat his fingers. His mouth felt even hotter by the time he started again and this time there was slick fingers teasing his ass, and working their way in.

"Oh, I think I like it. I think I like it a lot..." It startled him, when Jack pushed one finger slowly in, because his dick twitched hard in Jack's mouth, left him feeling a little frantic.

The 'hmm' noise that Jack made at that also sent unbearable vibration around the sensitive skin of his cock and Jack eased the finger back and then forward again, repeating the motion and stretching at him carefully.

Yes, yes. Fuck, yes. He wanted to keep moving, stretching for the little motion of Jack's finger, because it hit that particular spot that made him want to come every time, and then hit it again.

Two fingers then, and that was starting to feel stretched. Fuck, his climax felt like it was twisting itself up and he wasn't going to be able to hold back much longer.

"Close, I'm, I'm close, you're so damn good at this, you..." Amazing, and Rodney didn't know how he did it. It was just mouth and hands.

"Come for me Mer," Jack murmured as he went for it with the very obvious intention that he wasn't going to let up until he did come. Mouth, tongue, fingers, heat and slickness never stopping, just increasing in pace and tempo like one of his Rachmaninoff pieces, cascading and raw with passion all at the same time.

Except there was no tidy-ending, and Rodney moved with it, followed it through as far as he could until his fingers were tight on Jack's shoulders and then he *was* coming.

It was a firework burst of a climax and it left him momentarily dazed enough that he didn't notice Jack move up to wrap around him in a warm embrace, not for a few moments at least. In that moment he had no doubts that this was his preference, no doubts, no psychological traumas or anything.

He liked men. It wasn't something he was going to have to wonder about or bring up with his therapist. Rodney shifted, moving his arms sluggishly to touch Jack, hold him in turn. "Mmmh. That was amazing."

"My ego is duly flattered," Jack smiled. His own erection was hot and hard against Rodney’s skin and there was a good feeling about that too. Evidence someone wanted him, really wanted him and found him attractive. "It's all about technique. Something tells me you'll be a quick study."

"Let me return the favor," Rodney half asked, mostly offered, kissing Jack again.

"I'm saving myself for your ass," Jack said and his eyes were a clear blue when Rodney looked at them. "Unless you don't want to do that... in which case I'll gladly take you up on it."

"No, if you're going to save yourself for something, I think my ass would appreciate the attention." If he was going to give his ass a personality, at least.

Jack chuckled a little at that and stroked at his hair kissing him again. "If I'm going to be the one giving advice here as well as imparting the wisdom of my sexual experience, don't label yourself as gay Mer, because you don't want to miss out on love because you've got yourself into a mind set. I've seen too many people do that. Besides, being bi-sexual doubles your chances of getting laid. Simple math."

"I've had some bad experiences with women." And just physically, he could apparently meet a complete stranger and find himself ridiculously turned on over the man.

Jack nodded a little as if he understood and maybe he had given away something more than he was intending there. He was looking straight into his eyes as if he peering into his head and said. "You are someone special Mer, never forget that," and it should've, could've sounded trite but Jack seemed to mean it and that really shook him.

Rodney stretched, shaking his head a little as he moved. "Weirdly, I hear that a lot."

"Do you believe it?" Jack asked as he started stroking over skin again.

"Sometimes." When it had to do with his intellect, mostly. He savored his intellect, but his body... He was still adjusting to.

"Mmm." Jack nuzzled at his neck. "Believe it. Say it to yourself if you have to. At the end of the day, most people are not going to bother to look past their own short-sighted preconceptions so you have to wave your assets around some." He smiled again. "And particularly fine assets you have Mer."

"You're only saying that to get into my pants." Rodney laughed it, though, a relaxed sort of scoff while he stretched his legs, spreading them a little. "Should I turn over?"

"Well, that depends, " Jack said. "Ever done it face up?"

Yeah, he'd done that a lot. He'd done it a lot and Jack distracted Rodney with a kiss against the muscle that headed towards his collarbone. It left Rodney feeling like a dog with an involuntary itch to scratch. "All the time. My brother and me used to--" Oh, shit.

Jack paused a moment, hand stilling. "Brother?" he murmured. "That explains part of it." He exhaled a little. "Mer, don't ever say that in front of anyone else okay? This is not a time and place who would be even remotely tolerant to incest. You were abused right? By a female relation?"

He'd gone as still as Jack had. "Yeah, uh. Shit. Shit. This is what I get when I relax, I just, forget I said anything."

"Look," Jack sighed. "Doesn't make any difference to me, seen a few cultures where it is normal even. I'm pretty flexible with my thinking but right here, right now? People aren't like that. People have secrets Mer... I have more than a few. I've paid my way with my body more than once and there would be people who'd call me a whore for that. Doesn't bother me, but it bothers them so I don't talk about it. "

He was offering him a secret in kind as well as if that evened things out somehow.

It sort of wasn't the same, but Jack seemed bright, *sharp*, and Rodney wanted to ask why he'd done it. But it didn't seem right, so he didn't ask. "Okay. I can understand that."

"Good. So...front or back? I'll go with your preference as you've done both," Jack said rubbing his cock against him just a little.

Back was good for slow, front was good for... overwhelmed, Rodney decided. "Front. I like the way your expressions change." 

"I'll make sure to pull some strange ones to keep you interested," Jack said reaching for the lube and condoms. “Okay then, let's see if I can fuck you until you come again."

"I don't think that's ever happened." But he was starting to feel a little less than completely soft, and Jack was rock hard. Rodney shifted, moved to open a condom. "Let me put it on."

"Knock yourself out," Jack said smiling a little as he watched him. "You've got very deft fingers."

Rodney decided to just soak it in. He put a little of the lube at the tip, and leaned up to roll it down the length of Jack's dick.

Jack seemed to appreciate it. "You want to slick me up too?" he suggested.

"My pleasure." He could idle a hand slowly over Jack's dick, feel him up and down, and Rodney wanted to do that a lot. Jack was a good-looking man. He poured some of the lube onto his palm, looking up at Jack's face while he slowly wrapped his palm around it.

"Mmm, that'll wake me up a little," Jack murmured. "You've definitely done hand jobs before."

"I like to think I'm good at it," Rodney smiled, leaning up onto his knees long enough to kiss Jack.

"Mm, let's get you in a comfortable position," Jack said, gripping him to manhandle him a little. "You might be there a while."

Back onto his back again, and Rodney shifted, lifting his hips up to Jack, trying to -- ahah, pillows.

Jack seemed to get his drift and grinned as he tucked them under his back. "Comfortable?" His fingers were finding his ass again, preparing him.

Slow motions of fingertip against his ass, and Rodney smiled up at Jack. "Yeah. I'm very comfortable."

"Just say if I'm hurting at all, " he murmured and there it was, the push against his ass and, crap, he was larger than Grant. Thicker and larger.

"Oh, man. Uhm, you're, uh." He tipped his hips, trying to make the alignment the easiest possible. "Huge."

"Sizeable, but not enormous. There are bigger," Jack murmured taking it very steadily. "But it's what you do, not the size that is most important. Though size can help."

Rodney exhaled in an unsteady pant of breath. "I think size is helping here. Jesus."

"You don't want to rush things here," Jack said, with some signs of strain there in his voice.

"How're you, how... you're holding back." Moving slowly, and while Rodney could feel the burn of stretching skin, his dick was pretty into the sensation.

"And it's not easy, I can tell you," Jack huffed a little easing in deeper and deeper. He would move a little then pause, then push a bit more, and a little more until he was right in. "There now. Just...catch our breath."

"Right." Rodney nodded, swallowing when he lifted his hips, pushing his ass against Jack's hips, his legs still awkwardly akimbo around Jack. "Ohhh."

"Mm, you feel good. Very good. Tight and hot..." Jack leaned down to kiss him and rocked just a little

It startled him, and Rodney sucked in a gasp against Jack's mouth. He wasn't surprised when Jack swallowed that gasp.

"Mm," Jack murmured and moved again. He kept doing that until he could move properly, slowly back and forth.

A slow fucking, and Rodney was half sure that his ass was trying to cling to Jack on the out strokes. "Please, please..."

"Yeah... yeah, Mer," Jack murmured picking up his pace a little. "It's good... god yeah..."

A nice, steady fucking, and Rodney could only wrap his legs desperately around Jack's hips, trying to move with him, move into him. "That's good, that's great."

"Good, because I'm going to work on that overwhelming for you in a while," Jack promised. He was picking up speed and angling a little as if looking for something.

It was hard to guess what it was, and then he hit him. Rodney *felt* the stroke hit him, brush against that spot Grant sometimes hit.

Whatever it was Jack noted his reaction and then went for it with more force, again and again. How he had the stamina and control, Rodney wasn't sure but he had no doubt Jack was in control of how he was going to climax.

He was sure he was going to get to, and for the moment, all he wanted to focus on was, oh. Everything. hands right on his hips, hipbones grinding against his ass, the pillows moving under his body, slowly displaced.

"Do... you want more?" Jack asked in a near gasp. "Do you want...harder? "

Rodney exhaled unsteadily, nodding, head rubbing against the mattress beneath him. "Yeah, harder, please, you're, this is amazing..."

Jack shifted, pulling his legs up so they were resting on his shoulders and the next thrust practically bent him in half.

Cracked in half like that was novel, fantastic, and Rodney shifted, taking a careful breath before he tried to relax against Jack. "Fuck, I didn't think you could get any deeper in, you..."

"Right angle, I can fuck your brains out," Jack murmured in a low resonating voice and slowed up is next thrust a little.

"Dare you." It was the best he could manage to say, because even slowing down, Jack was moving fast, fast enough to make Rodney's dick jerk with every other motion.

"You asked for it," and with that Jack seemed to go out of his way to give Rodney that overwhelmed feeling. He even leaned forward and pinned Rodney's hands .

And *that*, more than anything else, more than random men fucking his ass in a line, was what he wanted. No control, but at the same time, he could stop it, if he wanted to. He just didn't want to, because it felt amazing, made his muscles ache, made him feel out of control.

Jack was heavy on him, deep in him and there was the fantasy there that he didn't have to be the one worrying about anything, he just had to feel and enjoy. There was the thrusting rhythm again and the slap of him against his ass.

He didn't bother trying to stroke himself off. It was better to just lean up against the hands pinning his wrists, trying to feel Jack, kiss him, anything, concentrating on the strain of muscles and the pressure.

He'd lean and kiss him pausing at the top of a stroke. He'd deliberately press himself against his cock. "You like that don't you Mer? Like not having control. Imagine what it would be like to be tied and helpless... would that scare you?"  
"I want to try it to find out." He did, because hands, he had a feeling he could throw Jack off of him, if he wanted to.

Maybe that was deliberate. "Next time," Jack murmured. "Next time, we'll do that." But now he was pushing harder and talking became impossible.

Jack was pounding him, leaving Rodney to take it and take it and he squirmed, trying to get more because he felt so close, so damn close.

"Yeah, yeah come on now Mer...come for me, come on now, come for me.." He was hitting that spot every time now without mercy.

It felt different than jerking off, felt like a deeper orgasm rushing over him. His balls went tight, and they still ached miserably right up until he felt the first twitching jerk, and then another, and then another, like half-orgasms that bundled up into more than one.

It was then Jack finally came from the guttural cry he made and the stuttered finish. It took a long time and he eventually came to a halt, half pinning him with his solid weight, and breathing heavily.

"Oh, god. Oh god. That was, you..." Amazing. No other words.

"Did you get what you want?" Jack said after he got his breath back. He smiled at Rodney, his hair darkened with sweat and exertion. "Because, you were pretty damn good for me Mer."

"Oh yeah. That was..." They were both panting a little, and it made Rodney laugh in quiet huffs. "Amazing. I feel done in."

"Shagged out as they'd say back in England," Jack said and withdrew, before returning to holding him. "Mmm. I'm over here for another two weeks. Think that'll be long enough to complete your sexual education?"

"Huh. You'd do that?" His ass was still sore, but sort of delightfully sore, stretched and empty.

"Yeah," Jack smiled. "I think you need to learn sex can be a good thing. I can get fucked pretty much any time, but this is important and interesting. Besides, the most important sexual organ is the brain. I get the impression I'd be denying the world some phenomenal sex if I didn't help out." He grinned at him to show him it was all tongue in cheek.

Rodney leaned up, just a little, and kissed Jack on the mouth again. "Thanks. When do you want to meet again...?"

The older man smiled. "I'll be here tomorrow evening, same time."

He had no idea how he'd managed to get so lucky but suddenly the next two weeks looked to be a high point of his life rather than a low and he was grateful for the turnaround, no matter where it came from.

 

Talks were bad. This whole week had been bad from Grant's point of view because Rodney had been out every night and getting in late and he'd been sitting waiting for him to come back because there were lots of bad things that could happen to people when they were out like what had happened to Carson and he was only just starting to move around properly and stop sleeping all the time. 

He'd been waiting this time with Shona and Carson in the living room, glancing at the door over and over after Rodney's normal time to be in and then felt the huge relief when he stepped into the house, so much so he nearly missed Shona calling out. "Rodney? Can I have a wee chat here, lovey?"

Rodney looked *exhausted*, and he was pulling at the sleeves of his shirt, down over his wrists. "Oh, uh. Why's everyone still up?"

"Grant was worried about you," Shona said which was the truth.

"I... I thought you might've had a car accident or broken down or someone might've found you like they did Carson and I wouldn't've been there to call 911," Grant said.

Carson didn't say anything but Grant was watching him and it was like he knew what was happening just by looking at Rodney.

"Oh, uh." Rodney looked nervous, edgy, and he wasn't sitting down. "I'm sorry, Grant. I didn't mean to make you worry."

"That's... that's okay. I just don't know where you were," Grant said and shrugged.

"Which is a point," Shona said. "You are old enough to be out late, but I would feel more comfortable if I knew where you were?"

Rodney wasn't good at lying. Not really, not when Grant was watching. Rodney tilted his head a certain way when he was thinking of made-up answers, and Grant usually didn't say anything about it because most of the time they were answers nicer than reality. "I, uh, was out." He glanced at Carson. "At a club-place."

"What type of club place?" Shona asked leaning forward. "I'm concerned Rodney... you're in a susceptible frame of mind right now. It would be easy for someone to take advantage."

Rodney was looking at Grant instead of Shona. "Look, uh, can I just go to bed? I'm sort of tired, and uh..."

"Rodney, I'm going to be blunt and I want you to be truthful," Shona said in a firm voice. "You're tired all the time, you've lost weight and your mood is all over the place. Have you been trying drugs?"

"What? Oh, god no." There was a real reaction, real Rodney-ness. It put Grant at ease a little. "Are you kidding me? I need these brain cells."

Shona seemed to relax a little. "Good, because it wouldn't be the first time we've had someone with drug or alcohol problems in the house and I'd rather make sure things are okay than let it get to be a problem. If you are just blowing off steam..." She spread her hands to indicate that was fine.

Grant couldn't think of anything worse than things being out of order in his head. He couldn't imagine why people might think that was a good idea.

"I've just been out. Just, you all keep saying that I need to get out and do my own thing and not immediately think about Grant, and then when I do..." Rodney shifted, still a nervous sort of footing for Rodney.

"I'll take you at your word," Shona said. "Now, why don't you all head to bed hmm? It's late and I don't want you all getting into bad habits."

Grant got up. It was a good idea and he could do that now Rodney was at home. Carson got up slowly, still looking at Rodney before heading towards the stairs.

"Thanks." Rodney said it to Shona, a quiet murmur that followed Grant around the corner while he walked to the stairwell. "I didn't mean to worry anyone. I promise that I'm not doing anything stupid." 

Carson was already up the stairs ahead of him and Grant frowned because Carson didn't go into his own room but headed straight into Rodney's. He frowned a little because that was weird in one way so he went and grabbed the soft toy that was in his room and then went to sit with Carson in Rodney's bedroom as well, though he wasn't exactly sure why he was there and waiting. But he knew Carson saw things that other people didn't and that he had kept secrets for them even from his own parents and that he'd even been hurt over them and never made that a big deal so if there was something wrong then it was something he would talk to Rodney about and sort out because that was what he did. 

They waited until Rodney had come in the room and closed the door and Carson said. "Okay, what've you been doing really?" 

And his voice sounded a bit trembly and he didn't like that.

"Why?" Rodney looked startled to see them there, and he set his book bag down inside the door when he closed it. 

"Because I know bloody well you've been doing something more than just going to a club," Carson said. "Tell me."

Grant wasn't sure how he knew. He couldn't tell.

"I've been at a club." Rodney sounded defensive, folded his arms over his chest, and still didn't sit down. "That's all."

Carson looked at him. "A club where you get tied up?" he said gesturing to some marks barely visible on Rodney's wrists. "For fuck's sake Rodney, I'm not as smart as you but I'm not stupid! I have eyes."

Grant had eyes too and he had seen the marks but he'd seen marks like that before on Rodney or on himself and it was something like normal in his head.

Rodney clutched at one wrist. "Yes! Okay, yes, it *is* a club where I get tied up. It's a bathhouse."

"A bath house? Where, where you have a bath? That sounds like fun," Grant said. It didn't seem too disastrous to him.

Carson on the other hand was gaping like a fish out of water. "A... bathhouse? You've *got* to be kidding me Rodney. You... I...”

"It's not like I can date around." Rodney crossed his arms over his chest. "It's not like I have any sort of normal social structure, or that I've really had a chance to fool around before now."

"But going to one of those places." Carson's eyes were wide. "Rodney, they'll treat you like meat on a hook!"

Grant looked alarmed at that. "Who put you on a hook?" he asked all worried now.

"No-one's put me on a hook. Look, I..." Rodney waved a hand slightly. "I had a run-in with a few guys the first time there, but I've met a guy who's only in town for a week or so and he's been... very helpful." It left Grant feeling lost, because run-ins? Were not good.

Run-ins got people hurt, or made him want to curl up in the smallest, darkest, best hidden place ever.

"Start at the beginning and tell me what you've been doing, because I swear to god, Rodney, I'll tell mum and dad if I have to if you are in danger," Carson said. "I don't want to, but I will if you are being hurt."

"I don't want you to be hurt," Grant added looking up at him. Rodney didn't look hurt, just tired.

"I'm not being hurt." Rodney sat down, and Rodney smelled like soap and damp, so he had to have been bathing. Grant liked baths, they were smooth and floaty and sort of squeaky at the same time. "Okay. I grabbed a flier from the place at the coffee shop, thought about it a couple of weeks, and decided to go."

"Why?" Grant asked. "Did you want a bath?"

"It's where, uh..." Rodney glanced at Grant, and Grant knew he was trying to decide what to say and how to say it. "Men go to meet other men to have sex."

"Oh." He considered that. He had done that with Rodney and it was nice. Sex was something he had to do, rather than that he particularly wanted to do, but if Rodney wanted it then that was okay. 

"So you wanted sex? Just sex, not the dating stuff that everyone else does? You're too young, Rodney."

Rodney rubbed at his face, and he wasn't looking at either of them. "Who the hell is going to date me, huh?"

"Well, anyone... loads of people," Carson said. "When you go back to college they'll be queuing up. But okay, so you went there, and what happened this first time?"

Grant still thought it sounded interesting. Baths were nice. Well, the baths here. He was allowed one every day here, and allowed more than stinging harsh soap.

Shona had nice soap, and she let him try *different* nice soaps, clean pine smells and flowers and things that felt as good as they smelled. "I uh, accidentally organized a gang bang." Rodney waved one hand. "Which didn't happen, and they were disappointed, and I probably won't go back there after Jack leaves town."

"Okay, Jack is this guy you met there?" Carson was saying in a low voice. "Who is he? What's he like? What... I mean, why has he been tying you up?

"I asked him to." Rodney looked sideways at Carson. "He's military, sounds American. He's nice enough. He, uh. Disrupted the accidental gang bang that was going to happen, and ran them off. Then he lectured me about safety."

"Safety is important," Grant said nodding. "Why would you want to be tied up? When mom did it, it always hurt." He looked up at Rodney quizzically, not really paying attention to Carson's sharp inhalation.

"I don't know." It was funny, because Rodney's voice shook a little. "I think I might be a little messed up."

"Hey..." Carson's tone softened. "Hey, Rodney, come on sit down here. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come on so strong. I was just... I don't like you being hurt, Rodney. You or Grant, I... you're the best foster brothers I've had and I worry about you."

That was nice, and Grant spontaneously hugged Carson, who only flinched a little with pain.

He hung in there, and Rodney moved, sat down slowly. "I asked him to, and he wanted to give me a safe... safe way to try it."

"And he hasn't done bad stuff to you? I mean, this was good stuff?” Carson was trying to be really understanding, and Grant just accepted what his brother said to him. If Rodney said it was okay, it was okay.

Rodney knew. Rodney knew, even when he looked unhappy, and his face was twisted up with feelings. "Yeah. It's been good. I just..."

"You just what?" Carson asked, and he had his arm around Rodney then, and Grant liked that. The both of them there with Carson. Comfortable and safe, because Carson didn't like bad things happening to them, possibly even more than all the people who told them that. Carson did things about it, and he made Rodney happy and laugh, and Grant couldn't remember many times when Rodney laughed before.

"Wanted contact." He sucked in an unsteady breath, and leaned into Carson, while Grant shifted to hug Rodney too. He was tired and could sleep just like that, just there.

"Oh, Rodney," Carson murmured, and stroked at his hair. "I'm sorry, I should've just been spending more time with you, and I've been a bit rubbish recently."

Grant didn't think he had. He'd been there in the day time and doing his work, and then sometimes Maddie came over. But then, he was at home more than Rodney was, so maybe Rodney did miss him.

"Not your fault. I think I'm just... I should mention it to my therapist. I haven't felt the same since the trial."

"Well, that's not surprising," Carson said gently. "And it's probably a good idea to mention it. I just want you to be okay. If you're going back there then I want to know where it is, and the phone number... how to get a hold of you if you're not back by when you're meant to be."

Grant nodded to that suggestion. That was a good idea. Phones were good things, and they could help find people and get help.

"You're going to tell your parents, aren't you?" Rodney glanced at him. "I'll just, just until Jack leaves. Then I don't know if I'll go back."

Carson exhaled. "No. I should but... no... I won't tell. Give me the information and let me know roughly what time you're expecting to be back, so I can do something if it looks like you're in trouble. This Jack - he's good to you?"

Grant looked at Rodney as well.

"Yeah. And I don't particularly trust the rest of them there. But I like Jack. And he's leaving in not much longer." 

"Okay," Carson hugged them both. "Just... please don't get hurt. " He went silent for a long while, and Grant noticed he had flushed a bit. "What, what was it like Rodney?"

"What was what like?"

"The different things you've been doing?" Carson was getting redder, and Grant blinked a little.

"I think he wants to know what sex is like," Grant said. 

"Bloody hell, Grant, keep it down," Carson said furtively.

Carson's embarrassment seemed like it startled Rodney back to himself a little, and Grant wanted to smile at that. "Oh, it's. Been really really good. Of course, if I'm too young, and you're a year younger than me, then you're freakishly too young."

"Can't you give me details? I mean... I'm not at that sort've stage with Maddie and... well, I'm interested."

"It's not hard," Grant chipped in. "Well it is. Your penis is hard, but having sex isn't. I don't like it much."

Rodney sat up a little beside Grant, posture stiff. "The stuff I'm doing, you won't really, uh. Do with Maddie, whenever you get there. Unless she really wants to slide a dildo up your ass."

"Does that really feel good though?" Carson asked looking perplexed. "I mean really?"

"I enjoy it." Rodney shrugged his shoulders at Carson, like it was a defense. "Look, uh. I think we should go to bed. It's late and I didn't mean to keep you guys up."

"Okay," Carson patted his arm and got up. "Sorry. I was just worried about you." 

Grant blinked a little but didn't move. He wanted to ask Rodney something himself, but he was a little scared of it so he didn’t want to say it in front of anything else.

"I'm sorry. I'll see you at breakfast, okay?" Rodney leaned over, started to untie his shoes.

Carson nodded and took that as a dismissal, leaving as quietly as possible.

Grant hesitated. He had no problems with Rodney doing what he wanted, everything he wanted and he was sure he knew what he was doing, but there was this nagging suspicion in his head that wouldn't go away now he knew Rodney was having sex with someone else. It had been okay when neither of them were, but, but mom had taught him that she only cared about him when he was doing something for her and, that, that was like love, and if Rodney wasn't doing this with him and was doing it with someone else then maybe it meant he didn't love him anymore because that was, was how mom had taught them love worked. It could be taken away if they did something wrong, or sometimes for no reason at all.

Love went away.

Rodney peered over at him. "Hi."

He gave a little wave to his brother and then peered down at his hands.

"I, I..." he stopped and he glanced up at Rodney. "You love Jack. You don't love me anymore?" He meant the last to be a statement but it came out as a faint question, all shaking and scared.

"What?" Rodney dropped his shoelaces, and leaned over to look at Grant. "No, no, I don't love Jack. He's just a nice guy, and I can have sex with him. You, you said you didn't like doing it. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Mom said it was... the way she showed us she loved us," Grant said, confused. "So, so when we did it I thought we were doing that? And now I'm not doing it but you are with h... him and..." He was confused. "I don't like sex much, but I liked loving you, and I don't want you to not love me even if it means..."

Rodney looked miserable, frowning, and he leaned in to hug Grant. "Sex isn't love. And love isn't sex. A hug is a lot closer to love than sex."

"Oh!" Grant blinked a little, then hugged his brother back really hard. "It's okay to hug people then? To show them I love them?"

"Yeah. I'm getting the feeling that that's the normal way." Rodney leaned into Grant, and sighed. "I'm sorry I worried you. That's the last thing I want to do."

"I, I know you know what you are doing," Grant said. He was trying to explain it was him worrying himself, not Rodney at fault. "I think it's good if it makes you feel good. And you still love me."

"I'm not ever going to *not* love you," Rodney said in his promising voice, a hand rubbing at Grant's shoulder. "And maybe I shouldn't be going to clubs. I don't know. I'll just make sure you know where I am if something happens, or I don't come home."

"That's okay," Grant said. "If you like it. I want you to be happy." He hugged him again. Hugging did feel good, and he could hug people without making them be weird.

"I'm not sure I like it." Rodney's mouth quirked, and he stayed there, hugging Grant back. "I do, but I don't."

"If you don't like it, then don't do it?" Grant suggested.

"But I want to do it. It's, yeah, it's stupid." Rodney smiled, and kissed Grant's cheek.

"I, I'll try not to worry, and then everything will be fine?" Grant said, beaming a little.

"Yeah. Everything is going to be fine. But you need to tell me if I'm worrying you, or..." Rodney waved a hand. "Anything."

"Okay." He nodded and ducked his head in against Rodney a moment, in on last hug. "I'm going to bed now."

"Okay. Have a good night's sleep, Grant. I'll see you in the morning." And then Rodney went back to getting undressed.

He left then, feeling happier, and having learned something new. Hugs were allowed and said he loved someone, and they wouldn't be upset about that. Rodney was trying things which made him happy which was good. Carson wasn't going to tell anyone, and he wanted to help. 

Things were pretty good and he'd been worried for nothing. He hoped.

Grant was good at hope.

 

After Jack left -- and Rodney didn't press too hard on where Jack had gone, didn't want to get too tangled up and end up hoping he'd see him again -- he decided to not go to the bathhouse again. The chances that he'd do something phenomenally stupid, and then end up in Lachlan's emergency ward was too high for him to ignore, no matter how much he *wanted* to. So at his therapy session after Jack left, Rodney guessed it was as good a time as any to bring it all up.

"So Rodney, is there anything you'd like to discuss this week," Diane asked as she did every week. "How are you feeling at the moment?"

"Okay. Holidays are coming up, and the social worker is talking about Grant and I seeing Jeannie." Rodney cleared his throat a little. "But that's not what I want help with."

"And what do you want help with Rodney?" Diane asked, obviously a little surprised he was volunteering information.

"I, uh. Went to a gay bathhouse. I've been going for the last couple of weeks." He shifted, nervous, watching her eyes to see what she thought of that.

"I see," she said patiently. "And why did you do that, Rodney?"

"I wanted to feel that closeness. And it's very... satisfying, physically. The problem is that I want to go back, but I also don't want to go back."

"First of all, why did you go there in the first place?" Diane asked. "What was it that motivated you to do that?

The first word that came to Rodney's mind wasn't right, wasn't the *true* answer. He wasn't lonely. He had Grant and Carson and the Becketts. "I, uh. Wanted to feel that connection with someone."

"A physical connection? Specifically with a male someone?" Diane asked.

"Yeah. I, uh." He waved a hand slightly. "I have friends who are male. And I'm pretty sure they're one hundred percent straight, which also means one hundred percent not interested in me."

"So, in effect you were wanting to explore your sexual identity," Diane commented. "Okay, why did you feel the urge to do this now?

"You're the one who's always telling me I need to think and do things for myself. Well, I did. Tried, at least. Everything's just going... great at home. Grant's going to go to school part time in the spring, and Carson's applied to graduate in May with the seniors -- it's with a less prestigious degree, but let's be honest. High school. No-one's going to ask if he graduated special umpteen extra stupid classes in another year. No-one's going to beat him up in college either. So, they're both moving on and I feel static. There are things I want to try and I have no, no, I can't say normal because nothing I do is normal, but no usual sorts of opportunities to work out things like that."

She nodded slightly. "So, you went to the bath house and presumably you had an experience? What did this experience tell you?"

"I really prefer men to women. Sexually. And sex it, it can be actually good. But I don't want to go back, at the same time. And I don't know why."

"What sort of feelings do you have about going back. Describe them?" Diane instructed.

"I want to, but I..." Rodney shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't feel like it's enough."

"I see." Diane leaned back a little. "Perhaps you are looking for more than just casual sex, Rodney? Could that be the answer?"

He started to answer her, then just nodded. Yeah. He still missed what he'd had with Grant, but. But, Grant didn’t *like* it, and he wished Grant had said so, oh, years ago. 

"Then you are most likely right in your decision. You are unlikely to find someone interested in a relationship at a bath house, whereas they will be specifically interested in sex," Diane said. "So, let's have a look at this. What sort of things are you hoping to find in a relationship?"

"I don't know. I've never *had* a relationship before. I'd like, I suppose, someone intelligent enough to keep up with me, and tolerance for my quirks."

“Okay. Do you have a physical type you are attracted to? What attracts you to them?" his therapist encouraged.

"Uh, a decent sort of..." He waved one hand. "More facial expressiveness than the body, uh, bright eyes, good smile, dark hair. Intelligent looking."

"You have an emphasis on intelligence, Rodney," she commented. "Is that more important than anything else?"

"Well, not being an asshole is pretty important too," Rodney commented back, lifting an eyebrow at her. "My friends aren't the *sweetest* people known to man, but I can connect to them. I'll take an abrasive, intelligent person, who I can talk to, over a sweet dumbass. How would I even connect to someone like that?"

"A good question," Diane said smiling. "So, you would like someone who would challenge you?"

"Of course. My friends do." And why would anyone want to be in a relationship with someone they didn't also think of as a friend?

"Good. So given your main criteria, where do you think you are most likely to find someone who fits what you most want?" Diane said.

He thought about that for a brief moment, and decided, "at the university."

"Good, good. Now, often at Universities there are groups that openly declare their sexual leanings. Would you feel comfortable joining one of those?" his therapist asked.

"I'm not sure. I haven't been impressed by the 'community' so far." Though he'd met a couple of guys who weren't really even part of the 'community' as it seemed to be.

"Up until this point you hadn't expressed an interest in any sort of relationship. It might be that you weren't ready to participate in the community as such," she said.

Ready or not, he was pretty sure he was going to stay unimpressed. "Right, well. It's something I'll look into after the holidays, when the new semester starts. Possibly. I bet it's going to be full of English majors."

"Well, you're not an English major," Diane said with a smile. "Plus, you might find a different perspective is good for you. Now, how do you feel about the holidays?"

"I'm sort of not sure. Most of the Becketts are coming down for Christmas, and I don't know what to expect."

"How were your previous Christmases," she asked. "Were they marked in any way?"

"Miserably." Rodney shifted, leaned his elbows on his knees. "There was generally more food around to sneak to Grant, but. It was Jeannie Day. It's always been Jeannie Day. Last year I decided it was Jeanniemas, because Christ clearly ranked lower for my mother, seeing as he had a penis."

"Do you resent your sister that attention?" Diane questioned.

"Some." He rubbed at is face. "Our social workers are trying to arrange some complicated meeting with her, like I said. And I have this irrational thought that she'll meet the Becketts and then she'll be living there too, and it'll be Jeannie day every day again." Rodney laughed a little when he looked at her. "Which is stupid, and selfish, because I do miss her, only I like things just the way they are now. Carson and Grant and I, and Shona and Lachlan. I can make sense of it."

"As I understand it, your step father has custody of Jeannie, and is unlikely to give it up," she said. "That aside, you might have the experience of sharing Shona and Lachlan's attention with their own children."

"Right. I'm not... bothered by that. I'm more worried about what their own children are *like*, the rest of them, I mean, and how I'll get along with them. Carson's great." He just hoped the rest of them were sort of like Carson.

"Have you considered gifts for anyone?" Diane said.

"Yes. I'm not sure what to get them. Grant loves books -- he's strangely easy. Carson... I don't know. Shona, I have an idea for. Lachlan, I'm also not sure."

"I'm thinking anything you think of will be gratefully received. I often say that even a letter telling them what a difference they've made in your life can be the most treasured gift they will ever receive." Diane suggested.

"Huh." Well, there was that, and it would be *true* and not stupidly hokey. "That's actually a really good idea."

"Thank you, Rodney. I do occasionally have them," Diane said with a smile. "What else would you like to discuss?"

"How... how I can help Grant get used to college, without making his choices for him." That was something that was more up her usual alley, and Rodney knew he could kill the rest of the session with that one.

"Well," Diane said. "Let's take a look at that in detail shall we?" She smiled at him, and all in all the discussion about his sexual activity could've gone a lot worse. He'd been half waiting for censure and repulsion but in point of fact she seemed relieved that he was doing something so comparatively normal.

It was strange that *that* was comparatively normal, though. Rodney just nodded, and started to tell her about the classes Grant had signed up for.

 

Grant had never seen Jeannie before, or his stepfather but he had heard all about them both. But today they were going to meet them both so they could exchange presents for Christmas, and Shona had come with them rather than the social worker.

He was glad of that, because the social worker didn't let him talk. She didn't like him, Grant thought, but he wasn't sure. There was just... something. Something, and he was already nervous about meeting Jeannie and his stepfather.

They wouldn't like him. If they didn't like Rodney, they wouldn't like him because Rodney was wonderful and... and everything.

"Now," Shona said to them both. "I want you to both know if you feel uncomfortable at any time, we will leave. All you have to do is tell me, or if you want to not appear rude say you need the toilet or something, and I will check if you are okay."

Rodney was mostly looking at Grant when Shona said that, and to Grant they were strangers. He was possibly more nervous than the first time he'd met the coffee people, but less nervous than he was about going to *school* in three point two weeks. "Okay."

"Right then," Shona said and rang the doorbell.

Grant looked at the house. This was his house but it didn't feel like his house. The Becketts' was home, because his place here had only been down in two rooms. He could remember what he had glimpsed as he was carried out but, if not for that, he would not have known this was anywhere special.

The door opened, and there was a man there that he had seen in pictures from the trial. He was meant to be his stepfather, but he had never seen him in the flesh. He wasn't sure what he should do so he sidled over towards Rodney, because being closer reduced the magnitude of anxiety exponentially.

"Rodney and... Grant," the man was staring at him which made him nervous. "Mrs. Beckett, please come in."

The man's name was Jeff, though Rodney had sort of uttered it rather than said it, different intonation, unhappy intonation, and then Rodney had gone back to talking normally. Jeff, like it was ominous. 

"Thank you." Shona was gracious, and close behind them as she herded them into the house. Rodney felt unsteady at Grant's side.

"Rodney?" There was a little girl peeking out at them from the other end of the entryway hallway.

That had to be Jeannie. Grant looked at her a little suspiciously as Rodney had told him all about her.

"Jeannie, honey, come in the living room," Jeff said beckoning to her.

"There's two Rodneys," Jeannie pointed out, coming down the hallway towards them.

"Jeannie, this is Grant," Rodney explained, leaning forwards a little nervously. "My twin."

"He looks like you," Jeannie said, and tilted her head so Grant waved at her nervously. "Where did he come from?"

"He, uh..." Rodney cleared his throat, and *looked* at Jeff, gave him a hard look, while Grant tried to stay focused on Jeannie. "Lived in the basement."

"Oh." Jeannie stared again. "The papers said that, but that's the sort of thing you find in books. I didn't think it was real."

"I... I am real," Grant felt he needed to say as they headed to the living room. 

"Yeah, it's real. Mom lied a lot." Rodney sounded dismayed as they moved, and Jeff was silent. Rodney had *said* the man was quiet, but it wasn't the same quiet as Shona, where she was quiet so they could make a decision or talk for themselves.

"Is he stupid?" Jeannie asked. "He's bound to be stupid if he's been in a basement all the time."

Grant didn't know how to respond to that. Mom had told him he was worthless and useless, but Carson and Shona and everyone told him he was smart. But she hadn't been asking him, she'd asked Rodney.

Rodney shot Jeff a look that Grant wanted to call 'dirty'. "Seriously, you're such a chicken-shit that you can't even explain this to her, Jeff? Jeannie, Grant's just like *me*, and you can talk to him. He speaks and everything."

"Rodney, I've tried to explain," Jeff replied. "But the truth is, I don't know much about... any of that. I'm... sorry, but I really didn't know any of it."

"Boys, settle down now," Shona said glancing at them both. "Rodney, I think you might find that your step father is ignorant of a lot of things, if not completely hood winked."

"He was at the same trial *I* was at. There's not a lot left to be ignorant of," Rodney commented, in that voice that made Grant anxious.

And Jeannie was staring at him.

He didn't like that. Staring wasn't good. "I... should say hello. Shona says I should be polite. Hello Jeannie, hello Jeff. I haven't met you before, but Rodney has told me a lot about you both," Grant said, wanting things to be calmer, and was rewarded with a pat from Shona.

Jeff smiled at him, and patted Jeannie on the back. "Hi, Grant. I'm uh. Glad to finally meet you."

He nodded and ducked his head. "I wish you had stopped things so I could've met you sooner," he said, and Jeff's face paled a little and he wasn't sure why. He was just stating a fact.

"Grant, I had no idea you were down there." Jeff was very still when he said that, very stiff. "If I had have known, I would have stopped it."

"Yes?" Grant looked at him. "But you didn't stop her being horrible to Rodney, and you were here for that." Again, he was just stating facts, but somehow he knew that he was surprising all of them.

"Rodney was a... difficult child to get to know. I didn't know what was going on." And he kept *saying* that, but Shona and Lachlan knew everything. They knew when Grant tried eating the toothpaste, and they knew when he sorted the fruit in the fridge, and they knew what he was doing when he sat down with Rodney's textbooks from the last semester and did the extra problems at the end of each chapter.

"I wonder why I was difficult," Rodney muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Mommy said all boys are difficult," Jeannie chipped in. "And men too. Stupid too."

"Jeannie," Jeff said. "What have we talked about?"

"But that's what she said, Daddy!" Jeannie protested. "Girls are good and boys are bad."

Grant remembered her saying that, so Jeannie wasn't lying, but Shona had said differently. Shona seemed to know more things about them than their mother ever had, so logically it made sense to follow her decisions. Carson wasn't bad, or Jamie, Allan or Collin.

"No, you are wrong." he said decisively. "Not all boys are bad, not all girls are good. And sometimes people can be good to one person, and not to others. Rodney is very good to me, and to mom he was bad. More people agree with my opinion than with mom's, therefore Rodney is very good."

Jeff cleared his throat again. "Right. I, uh. I'm glad that you're both doing so well. What're you planning on doing, Grant?"

"I'm going to college," he said proudly. "I've been catching up, and Rodney's been helping me, and Carson and I get to go soon. And Shona's been teaching me about other things as well so I won't do the wrong things."

"Do you do the wrong things a lot?" Jeannie's attention seemed caught, and maybe she was a little, a little, Grant wasn't sure. She was nine, which Rodney had told him repeatedly, and smart, but apparently biased.

"Only when I don't know that they are wrong," Grant said looking at Shona. "I don't like wrong things. Being nasty is wrong and hurting people is wrong. Being selfish is wrong and greedy. Those are wrong things. Shona says I have learned it much faster than anyone thought I would."

"Have you visited mom yet? Dad won't let me."

"No." Rodney sounded surprised. "I saw her at the trial, and I don't want to see her anymore. I don't know about Grant..."

Grant shook his head. "She'll hurt me," he said in a quiet voice. "She always did. I don't want to be hurt anymore."

Jeff looked very discomfited by the conversation. "I don't think it would be a good idea, honey," he said to Jeannie. "She was... very unhappy about the verdict."

Shona seemed to understand what that meant. Grant wasn't sure, but there had been times when his mother had been so unhappy with him that she had been screaming and hitting and spitting at him, and if that was what he meant then taking Jeannie to see her would be wrong as well.

"But she's *mom*, and it's Christmas, and I thought Rodney would just come home and stay home and..."

Grant was alarmed at that thought. "Nonono," he said looking at Rodney. "We're not coming here? Rodney? We're..."

"It's all right Grant," Shona soothed. "You're staying with me."

"I'm not applying for custody," Jeff told them. "My lawyer says I should, but... I wouldn't know what to do with you."

"You wouldn't *do* anything," Rodney groused. "Just like you always did. So thanks for not applying for the legal right to neglect us."

"Rodney..." Not scolding, but a gentle reminding tone to Rodney from Shona that made Rodney sit back and sigh.

"But I want Rodney back!" Jeannie protested. "Rodney should be here! It's home, and he's my brother, and I want him here!" She started to sniffle a little, obviously used to getting what she wanted.

"I'm kind of screwed up, Jeannie, and need to *not* be here. Just sitting in the living room is creeping me out," Rodney countered. "I'll still visit but I, *we* can't live here anymore."

"But it's so *boring* without you," Jeannie complained tearfully. "I, I don't have anyone to play with!"

Jeff bit his lip. "Your mother didn't encourage friends that might hold her back," he admitted.

"Well, lad," Shona said. "I think it's about time you took charge of your daughter, and helped her get some friends. Rodney and Grant are her brothers, but she needs friends of her own age more than anything."

"I even have friends now." Rodney saying it maybe had more power coming from him than it did from Shona. "It's nice."

"You do?" Jeannie looked at them. "But aren't they annoyingly stupid like Mom said?"

Grant thought people were clever in different ways; after all, most of them knew what to do in situations where he didn't have a clue. That was being clever as well as doing math.

"No. There are a lot of smart people out there. It's not just us. There's a lot of *interesting* people out there. Like, the girl at the coffee shop I go to. She's a retail worker, yeah. And on the weekends she's a low-level competitive racecar driver. And I wouldn't know that if I'd been an asshole to her." 

"Oh. " Jeannie seemed to be thinking about it a little. "I think I'd like friends like that."

Grant nodded. "And there are people who are clever as well," he said. "Lots of them."

"And having them as friends isn't a bad thing at all." Rodney was focusing on Jeannie instead of Jeff, and he sounded less angry, which was nice. Grant didn't like it when Rodney sounded angry.

Jeannie nodded. "We got you both presents," she announced, her tears drying up some. "For Christmas."

"Jeannie day," Grant said nodding.

"Grant..." Rodney groaned, and elbowed Grant in the side gently. "Shhhh."

"What's Jeannie day?" Jeannie asked, looking at them both, confused, and Grant mimed having a zipped up lip apologetically to Rodney.

"Christmas," Rodney said, after an awkward pause. "It was always... really, your big day. Is all."

"Oh." Jeannie looked at him, and looked upset. "You...you don't like me anymore Rodney..." She looked like she was about to cry again.

"No, no, it's not that at all. I still like you. You're my sister." Rodney leaned forwards on the sofa, sitting on the edge. "I was just jealous, is all."

Jeannie surprised them all then, by getting off the chair, and then running over to hug Rodney. Maybe she really had missed him. People hugged when they loved each other, Rodney said so.

"I'm sorry. I just can't come back here to stay." Rodney hugged her back, tight, close, and Grant didn't know her. Didn't know what to do or say.

"I... I don't mind as long as you don't forget me," Jeannie said. "Will you send me letters?"

Grant thought he could send letters if he tried.

"Yeah. We can do that. And we don't live far away, so we can visit..."

"Any time you want," Jeff agreed. "You are welcome here, Rodney, Grant."

Rodney exhaled, still sitting close beside Grant. "Thanks."

"Presents?" Jeannie said letting go of Rodney's legs and running to get them. "This is for you, and this is for Grant. I helped pick them out."

"Thank you." Rodney reached to take the gift that Jeannie handed him. "Grant and I got you presents, too."

"Are you going to open them now?" Jeannie asked as Grant got the presents out. Shona had helped them pick out something suitable for a girl, and he liked it as well because it was sparkly and shiny.

"Should we?" Rodney looked to Shona for the answer to that, even as Grant handed over the gifts that they’d brought.

"If you want to boys, there's no reason not to," Shona said. "Sometimes it is nice to see other people's reactions to your gifts."

"Okay. You first, Jeannie." Rodney shifted, and he was close at Grant's side, happily so.

Jeannie tore into her wrapped presents with enthusiasm, and pulled out the sparkly tiara and glittery fairy wings, complete with wand, that Grant knew Rodney had modified to light up. "Ooo." she said. "What... what do I do with it?"

"You wear it, honey," Jeff said. "And pretend to be a fairy princess."

Rodney was nodding while Jeff said that, and it was the only time he'd seen Rodney agree with the man. "Yes. Yes, you pretend, and enjoy it."

`"Mommy didn't like pretending," Jeannie said. "But it is pretty. Can I try it on?"

Grant nodded, even though they hadn't asked him directly.

"Pretending can actually be sort of fun." Rodney liked to pretend that he was completely grown up, with varying degrees of success. He sat back, and looked at Grant, trying to catch his eyes.

Grant wasn't sure what Rodney wanted, except he wanted something, so he said. "I used to pretend I could see the stars, and then we did go and see the stars, and we told stories about them," he offered, hoping that was what Rodney wanted.

Jeff just went pale again, and Jeannie looked thoughtful as she perched the tiara on her head. "What do you like most?"

"Rodney," Grant answered immediately, hoping that was what she meant.

"Not *who*, what." Jeannie fiddled with her wand, and startled when the tip lit up. "Oh!"

“Rodney did that for you," Grant said. "He's, He’s very good at making things." What did he like the most. "I like Math. And sweets. And books. And outside."

"Good." Jeannie seemed to declare it the same way their mother did, firm and satisfied with some decision. Rodney plucked at wrapping paper. 

"You first, Grant."

Grant undid his present carefully and beamed. "Chocolate! I love chocolate," he said. It was one of his favorite things.

It was milky and sweet. and he had a mental list of bars he has liked and bars he hadn't liked. Dark chocolate was pretty good, and he hoped that there was more of it in the future, more flavors and tastes and differences. 

Rodney started to unwrap his gift.

Jeannie went and practically sat on Rodney as he opened it. "Do you like it? It's about physics? It's new. I thought you might like it."

"I love books," Rodney grinned, picking it up, and showing it to Grant in a slow motion. The same man had written one of Rodney's textbooks, which meant that Grant was going to look forward to finding more errors. "Thank you."

"That's okay," Jeannie said. "Thank you for my fairy outfit. I like it a lot."

"It looks pretty," Grant said agreeing. Rodney was happy now, less stressed. That was good.

He didn't like it when Rodney was stressed.

Jeff lifted his eyebrows at them, and started to stand up. "Mrs. Beckett, can I talk with you in the kitchen? I think the kids are fine together."

"I think you might be right," Shona answered. "Play nice, boys." She patted Grant affectionately on the head as she got up. "I won't be long."

Rodney watched Jeff lead the way to the kitchen, and Shona followed, and that was when Grant felt his brother relax. "How've you been, Jeannie? Everything's okay?"

"It's been strange without mom here," Jeannie said. "But Dad does different things with me, and I don't get told off for playing."

Grant looked at Rodney. It seemed to him that Jeannie had been controlled in a different way to them, but still controlled. "Good." Rodney slid a hand over the cover of his book a couple of times. "If he ever goes weird on you..."

"Dad won't get weird on me," Jeannie said with certainty. "He's not like that."

"Mom wasn't like that to you either,” Grant said. "But she was to us."

"Just keep it in mind, Jeannie," Rodney suggested. "If, and it's the big if, just remember you can call us. I'm going to give you the Becketts' phone number and address, so you can contact us. You can't tell mom."

Jeannie nodded. "Mom said horrible things about you both before they put her in jail. She really doesn't like you."

"We... we know that," Grant answered, and he really didn't like thinking about that too much either.

"We don't like her much, either, so it's okay. Just, you can't tell her where we are. Things are finally going nice." And while Rodney was curious about everything, had to know *everything*, he didn't ask what horrible things their mother had said about them. Grant knew the words already by heart.

She repeated them over and over, and he didn't need his memory to recall the details, because it felt like they were in his bones.

"Maybe I can visit you at your new home sometime?" Jeannie asked. "It's so lonely here."

"Maybe. We'll have to ask Shona." Grant understood lonely, the pluses and the many many minuses that went with it. The silence, the crawling feelings, the rising panic that ebbed and faded when he least expected it, the desperation.

"You can wish for friends with your wishing wand," Grant said. "Rodney let me wave it when he was making it light up."

"You should ask your dad if you can get lessons in something you like, something that mom always said no to. You might make friends there...?" Rodney was offering it, unsure. "And wave your wand."

"I wanted to try dancing but mommy wouldn't let me go," Jeannie said, and smiled. "I'll wish for that!" She closed her eyes in concentration, and then waved her wand so it sparkled and glowed as Rodney had designed. "There. Do you think it will work?"

"It might. I hope it does." Rodney would *make* it work, say something to Jeff on the way out or to Shona, and he could make it happen for Jeannie.

He knew Rodney, and he was good at making wishes come true.

Shona and Jeff came back in then and Shona smiled at them both. "Rodney, Grant... are you ready to go now or do you want to stay a wee bit longer?"

Rodney shifted, slid the book onto the sofa, and stood up to hug Jeannie. "We should probably go, but I'd like to come back sometime. Maybe find out how Jeannie's doing in the dance lessons she should be taking."

"Dance lessons?" Jeff looked at Rodney and then seemed to catch on. "Oh. Right. Dance lessons. Of course."

Jeannie beamed and hugged Rodney, and then, much to Grant's surprise, came and hugged him too.

“I hope you have a good Christmas, R...Grant." She stepped back, and maybe he didn't know her, but he could get to *like* her, Grant figured. 

She'd hugged him, and it hadn't felt too wrong, and he could cope with that. "You have a good Christmas too," he said in response, catching Shona's approving smile.

"Grant, Rodney..." Jeff cleared his throat, still nowhere near them standing wise. He was maybe three feet and 4 inches away from Grant, and a full four from Rodney. "I'm sorry, and I hope that the two of you have a very good holiday."

"Thank you," Grant said and got up. "You too." There he had been polite and he hadn't rambled or, or anything.

"I don't particularly want you to fall down a set of stairs or anything, so... I hope you have a good holiday, too," Rodney offered, not much of a peace offering.

"Come on then," Shona said ushering them away.

"Bye, Jeannie. Be good!"

"Bye Rodney!" Jeannie waved. "Bye Grant!"

He waved back, still relieved to be leaving the house. It meant nothing to him except darkness and fear in his memory. But he had done well, Rodney had not been really really angry and he had a half sister who knew his name. This was a good thing.

He wasn't The Other Rodney. He was Grant, and he *liked* being Grant, having differences between them. It was nice.

"That went well," Rodney murmured.

"Well, you didn't lose your temper," Shona said with a smile. "Or get scared. I am proud of you both."

He put his arm around Rodney then, for comfort and support.

Rodney leaned into him, and exhaled. "I don't want to go back to the house."

"Our house?" Shona asked. "We can go elsewhere for a wee bit Rodney, if you want."

"No, no, back..." Rodney waved a hand back towards their old house as they walked down the stairs, away. "I don't like it."

Grant patted his brother gently. "Mm. It is strange. I do not want to go there to where I was. But I do not know those rooms."

"Place was still a prison." In its own way, yes, it was. Rodney leaned close to him, all the way to the car, and then he let Grant sit in the front seat for the drive back. Rodney usually sat there, and it was a little strange to be where Rodney was. And if Rodney stayed close to him and Carson that evening, then he wasn't going to complain.

 

There were certain things the Beckett family did at Christmas that were uniquely their own traditions. His mum made Dundee fruit cake as a Christmas cake, there were tartan bows on the Christmas tree, they had a Yule log that had been drying out since the summer, and there would be bannock cakes, and parading around the kitchen three times with the log on Christmas Eve in a ceremony that would have the neighbors staring.

Still, Carson enjoyed Christmas, even if the peace and quiet he was used to was rapidly disappearing as the rest of the clan started descending on the household once again. His mum had put up beds all over the place. Rodney and Grant were going to be sleeping in the same room while the others were there, Lachlan’s study was back into a room again for the twins to share, and most of the other rooms were still set up for guests.

He holed up in the living room, near the fire and the tree that was practically exploding with presents underneath it, and listened to the house filling up with the noise and chaos that had been normal for the Beckett family in his pre-teen years.

He missed it, sometimes, but Carson was also bloody sure that he wouldn't want to do it again for another year once it was all over.

"Boo." Rodney leaned over the back of the sofa, holding a cookie in front of his face. "Your brother's making stained glass cookies. It's sort of lopsided, but tasty."

"Which brother?" Carson asked. "Let me guess, Jamie? " He took the cookie and looked at it. "Aye, that's Jamie's handiwork. The shape is probably some artistic comment on the human condition."

He nibbled at it. It wasn't bad actually, and he smiled a little.

"He's trying to teach Grant Art Deco style." Which was better than Grant's initial reaction to Jamie hugging him, which had been to scream and try to dive under the coffee table. "Hi."

"Hi," Carson smiled at him. "They'll all drift in here in a bit, so when mum and dad go to the late service, we'll sort've catch up. Did you see Collin get here yet?"

"No, though for all you've talked him up," Rodney told him, leaning comfortably over the back, "I'm expecting Thor to come in and kick the door down."

"Are you sure you haven't met him?" Carson said with a grin. "How's Grant doing?"

"Cookies. I think if he could date them, he would." Rodney was eyeing the tree, the lights. Once the sky started to go dark outside, the tree was turned on, and Carson saw how Rodney watched it. "He's getting along with Jamie, and with, uh..."

The Beckett household was a bad place for someone who was bad with names to live.

Carson grinned. "Jamie and Mairi are the two blonde twins. Isobel is here as well. She's the one who looks like a TV star, partly because she is. Allan is the tall one who looks like someone off of Miami Vice - he's the banker. I think he was talking to dad about investments, he usually does, and Aileen is the one with the long dark hair clipped back, the lawyer. Collin when he gets here is the rugged looking one. Mum said he was coming so I'm sure he'll be here soon."

"You talk about him a lot." Rodney moved, climbed over the back of the sofa with long legs, and plopped down beside Carson. "*I* think you might idolize him."

"What, Collin? I... no, he..." Carson stammered and hesitated. "He goes from teasing the hell out of me to helping me out. Sometimes I hate him because he never lets up, but other times I worry myself sick over him being away." It was complicated. "And he's going to kick my ass over getting beaten up and bullied," he confessed morosely.

"That's sort of redundant," Rodney pointed out. "What's he do, again?"

"He's in the Airforce. Training to be a pilot," Carson said as the fire crackled next to him. "He could be... he could end up in war zones and things." It was a sort've nameless dread he had. He'd felt it when Isobel had meningitis and, even though they'd caught it quickly, it had been so bad that they’d been clustered around the ICU waiting. And that time when he heard his mum on the phone say, "What kind of accident? How bad?" when Allan had been in a car crash.

"He wants to be a pilot, though," Rodney pointed out. "And doing what you want is important. That's pretty cool."

"Yeah," Carson exhaled a little, listening a little as there was a surge of noise from the kitchen, and then laughter. "I think that's him."

The door burst open with Isobel backing through. "I'm dumping your stuff here, Col. Don't think I'm lugging this all the way upstairs for you."

"Hey, support your armed forces, Iz, " a male voice said. "Give me some of that patriotic consideration."

There was one thing that Carson always forgot about Collin, which was quite how ridiculously good-looking he was with no apparent effort. Although, the aviator shades were a little over done, considering it was late Christmas Eve.

Rodney glanced up and over at Collin, and stayed sitting slightly upright, like a prairie dog at the ready. "What room's he in?"

"Hey, you must be Rodney," Collin ,taking the shades off and grinning at him. "And there's Sonny boy... hey, no hugs for me? "

"Thought you might be too cool for that," Carson said, his nickname bringing back flash backs, but he did get up and go to hug his brother. Collin hugged back hard enough to make his nearly healed ribs protest, and for him make a muffled 'ow'. He covered it by saying, "Rodney's not going to be your slave for the holidays, Col. Or Grant."

"You volunteering?" Collin smirked a little. "Hell, I'm downstairs, it's just over there. I think I can manage."

"Oh right, *now* you take your own things," Isobel said. "After I broke a nail - that's a serious thing in my line of work. They notice that sort've thing, you know!"

It was funny that Rodney went mostly quiet in the face of Carson's relatives, as though he didn't know what to do with them, and he was as much in awe as Grant was. "Can't you get a new one glued on?"

"Well yes, but it costs to have it done properly," Isobel said. Collin had lifted his bags, and disappeared off for a moment to dump them in his room, but was back soon enough, and flopped down with a smirk.

"So, how's things going? Can't help but get the impression you've been missing things out of your letters, Sonny," Collin said, even as he helped himself to a handful of chips that were put out. "Maybe Rodney can tell me what's been going on with you."

"Carson's graduating in May." Rodney was so *proud* of that, pleased that Carson was going to do his pre-med locally, that he'd already applied for Western Ontario and would surely get in.

"Wow, going for the Beckett over-achiever award huh?" Collin said with a grin. "So, what's the deal with you getting hurt?"

The affable easiness with which he said that didn't fool Carson a bit. "Just some bullies," he said with a shrug. "It's not really a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Isobel said. "They practically left you for dead, Carson!"

Carson winced at that. This wasn't helping much; Rodney might feel bad about it, and it would stir Collin up.

"That's past bullies and into assault, Carson," Collin pointed out, voice dire.

"They're in proceedings for that," Rodney pointed out, starting to move like he was going to get out of the way.

Carson shot him a pleading look to stay. It got hard when they all ganged up on him, even if it was for his own good. "Aye well, I'm pretty embarrassed about it. I know no one else has ever had a problem like this and I know what you're going to say but...it just happened okay? Things just happened."

"Anyway, it's over, and Carson's last couple of weeks at school have been uneventful." Verifiably so, with his parents checking with his teachers and the principal.

"Well you should've told someone," Isobel said. "Jamie did, when they started on him."

"Jamie was bullied?" Carson asked faintly surprised. How had he missed that?

"A few tried it on with me," Collin said. "I kicked their asses and got suspended for a few days." He smirked a bit.

"Thanks for rubbing it in, Col," he said.

Isobel threw a nut at Collin, bouncing it off his head. "Collin, stop being a bastard. Carson got really hurt."

"Broken ribs," Rodney offered quietly, leaning into Carson just a little, watching Isobel and Collin. He seemed to be less intimidated by Jamie. Possibly because Jamie was goofy.

It was hard to be intimidated by him because he was wildly fey as Carson's mum always said. Creative, artistic bouncing from idea to idea, and a wee bit head in the clouds. Mairi was more down to earth, but no less talented.

"Broken ribs, and an arm fracture, and a concussion," Isobel said. "We're not talking one bully here."

Carson groaned. "Guys, come on...I don't want to go over this all over Christmas. "

"Tell me who they are, Sonny, I'll... encourage them to never do it again," Collin said in a serious tone of voice.

"Oh please, Collin, you are not that badass," Isobel snorted.

"No, but we do have a kick-ass lawyer in the family." Collin pointed out. "We could litigate the pants off of them all."

"They're already litigating," Rodney shrugged from his side. "So. Uh, why do you call Carson Sonny?"

"Didn't want to call him Car," Collin shrugged as if that made it logical. 

"You could try just calling us by our real names, you know," Isobel said with a good-natured sniff. "Oh, guess what I auditioned for last week? Star Trek - I get a speaking part as well."

"I bet you're wearing so much latex no one will recognize it's you," Collin said with a grin.

Carson sat up. "Hey, that's really cool. We all watch it here. What are you doing in it?"

"They're starting a *new* series," she told them. "Instead of you guys watching re-runs of the other one."

"They're replacing Kirk?" Rodney sounded mildly offended. "So you're....?"

"Playing a jealous Alien wife."

"Oh well, practically method acting," Collin snarked.

"Hey!" Isobel poked at him hard enough to have him rocking back. "I'm single at the moment and I'll have you know, this could be a big break. Everyone knows that if you get in with these guys then you get parts in pretty much everything that gets made in those studios. There's a lot of talk about a lot of filmmaking and series being moved up to Vancouver to shoot. And that means I'm at an advantage, short've getting a recurring role in one of the soaps or something."

"Anyone we know in this new series?" Carson asked. Maybe they could get Isobel to get autographs or something.

She shook her head. "New actors, time jump and all. But, it'll be on the air next September. Filming starts in February." She sounded proud of herself, and Carson was always happy when his sister had work.

"Cool." Rodney grinned a little. "Still not sold, but. Cool."

"We want pictures of you," Collin said. "So I can take it with me if I get deployed next year."

"Deployed?" Carson could hear his own rising anxiety.

"Sonny, I'm a full pilot. I've been doing milk runs for a while now and I've been doing special training on combat helos. They're not going to let me rot on the ground somewhere," Collin said with a shrug.

"But..." Carson looked around for support. "That could be dangerous. "

Collin grinned. "Something happens to me I'll have the best doctor in Canada to sort me out, won't I?"

"It'll take that long before Canada's involved in a real war," Rodney said agreeably. "Because, honestly, what're you expecting the Russians to do when we have second strike capabilities? Bluster. A lot."

"Their economy is more dependent on the west than they'd admit," Allan said from the door. "Mum and Dad want to know if anyone is going to the late service with them, or if we're going tomorrow morning?"

Carson grinned. "I'll go tomorrow. Mum chases us out of the kitchen on Christmas morning anyway. You coming tomorrow, Rodney, or do you want to hang out here?"

Rodney shook his head a little. "I'll be right back -- I want to confer with Grant on this one. I never thought much about Mass."

"It's not compulsorary," Carson said as he got up. "Bring back more cookies!

"Funny art deco cookies, coming up." Rodney stood up, and wove his way past Collin and Allan and Isobel, pushing open the kitchen door. Carson thought he saw sugar dust being thrown into the air.

He dreaded to think what was going on in there. Grant and the twins, that was a combination and a half right there. 

"So Carson, about this assault." Allan started and Carson groaned.

"Seriously, I'm not going over it again. Can't we just talk about interesting things?" he pleaded. 

"Hmm. Later then. Talking of interesting, Grant has an exceptional grasp of economics," Allan said. "He just made a comment out there when I was talking to dad and...that's advanced stuff."

"Oh, that'll only be the tip of an iceberg," Carson said immediately. "Grant and Rodney are both geniuses, not just smart but... way out there."

"Well you're smart," Collin pointed out. "So are Allan and Aileen. It's in the blood."

Carson shook his head. "You, you need to see it happen. Grant remembers everything. He has an eidetic memory. Rodney is close. They write equations as easily as I would write a note to mum. Rodney is a brilliant musician, incredible, and he can make practical things, amazing things and Grant can see patterns in everything..."

And he sort of doted on them, wanted to protect them. He was glad, for example, that Rodney had stopped going out at night, and that they'd started to go back to the coffee shop together on weekends. That life was sort of settling back down after the Trial, finally.

"So they're not the average fosters, then," Collin guessed. "Which one was just in here?"

"That's Rodney," Carson answered. It was strange because he never had any problem telling them apart. "They are definitely not average fosters. They're great, been through so much. Rodney had to take care of Grant a lot, and he pretty ended up dealing with the trial on his own. We were there to help but, he was the one being cross examined and offered up for a desperate hatchet job by the defense."

"Mmm, that's what they do." Allan had that same sort of observational tone that he always did. "How do you think they'll do?"

"Rodney and Grant? Brilliantly," Carson said without hesitation. "They'll change the world, and their ... mother had them locked in a bloody basement."

"That's horrible," Isobel sighed. "Mum told me some of it, but, you know, I'm out in Vancouver, and... I'm glad you like them, Carson. You're a good kid."

"I'm going to be 16 soon and graduating," he reminded her, without too much heat. "I'm glad they're too old to be placed for adoption. I don't want them to leave. Grant's come on amazingly and Rodney..." He tried to find the right words. "Rodney's my best friend."

"Fellow geeks," Isobel decided in a mild voice as she moved towards the kitchen door. "I'm going to just--"

The door swung open, pushed backwards while Rodney backed out with a tray in his hands. "Cookies," Rodney declared. "Fresh from the oven, possibly over sugared..."

"Can you over sugar a cookie?" Collin said. "Thanks, Rodney," he said, only momentarily hesitating over the name. 

"If Mairi and Jamie are out there, you better believe it," Allan replied. "Hey, don't let the fire die down Carson. Dad'll be swearing that the pixies will be getting in if you're not careful."

"The pixies?" Rodney shot them all an incredulous look, while he set down the tray.

"It's Scottish tradition," Carson said with a grin. "Apparently, you are meant to have a lit fire in the grate on Christmas Eve to make sure the wee folk didn't creep in and bring bad luck... or run off with any presents."

"So, this is your job, huh? See, if you have a fire going, how will Santa get down the chimney?" Rodney snagged a cookie, and flopped back onto the sofa. "This is nice."

"I asked the same question," Carson said, beaming at him. "Dad informed me Santa has an asbestos suit - and very good health insurance."

"Yeah, he spent a whole Christmas worried about Santa getting asbestosis after that one," Collin said.

"The military still uses a lot of it," Rodney mused. "We'll have to tell Grant that one."

"He's very excited by Santa," Carson had to explain. "I don't think he's had a present before, except what Rodney could get him. Have you had any before, Rodney?" 

He'd done his best to try and get something special for Rodney. He just hoped that they were getting a computer, because he'd managed to order a book on building your own computer and, after a lot of saving, a CD player as well. 

Rodney peered at his cookie, and then glanced up at Carson. "No. It was Jeannie day, and 'Santa' didn't tend to bring 'bad' boys gifts." He rolled his eyes. "Thinking about it, my stepfather was a doormat."

"Sounds like it," Collin said. "Occasionally, we'd get threatened with a lump of coal in the Christmas stocking."

"No, you mean, you'd be threatened with it," Allan said dryly.

"But it never happened," Collin continued. "Speaking of which, Mr. Wall Street - where's this very own plane you promised me when I was thirteen, huh? You must've made enough to buy me one by now."

"Pffft, if I wanted to break myself, sure," Allan smiled. "No, it's all invested. To make more money. Which will make more money. And someday, with the interest, I'll buy you a plane. When you're in a mid-life crisis."

Carson snorted a little at that, even as Grant came bounding in, along with Mairi and Jamie. They looked as though they had been fighting with icing sugar rather than putting it on cookies, and then inhaling it, so they were all on sugar highs and giggling as they came in.

"Behold!" Jamie announced theatrically. "My latest work of art..." He raised up another plate of the cookies. "I call it... Soul in Torment!"

Carson looked at the plate of cookies. "They don't looked particularly upset to me," he said dubiously.

"It's a commentary on the masks of the human condition," Mairi said solemnly.

Rodney grinned perceptively at Jamie. "You just push the limits to see what you can get away with, don't you? I'll take one mask, please."

Grant laughed and swiped a cookie before he sat on Rodney's other side.

"Art is all about pushing the limits to see what we can get away with," Jamie said. "Oh hey, quick Mairi write that down, I can put it up as something pretentious at the next exhibition!"

"I've got a notebook full," Mairi said. "Gimme another symbolic expression of man's innate dichotomy, will you? They taste great."

"I helped!” Grant said to Rodney, eating his cookie and Carson grinned at him. Grant looked so happy with the world just then, like an overgrown kid.

That was such a *change* from the scared, skinny, miserable-looking young man who'd come into the house with Rodney. They both looked healthier, happier, and it had only been 8 months. "I can tell. They're very... artsy." Rodney lifted his eyebrows at Grant. "Oh! I have the answer to how Santa's going to come down the chimney with the fire going, Grant. Asbestos suit."

"Asbestos suit!" Grant repeated, as if that made all the sense in the world. It very nearly made Carson giggle.

"So, Rodney, Carson says you like music and can play?" Mairi said, and of course she'd be interested in that with all her own talents in song writing. "What do you like?"

"The piano you all have?" Rodney offered that, clearly still thinking about his answer. "Anything. I play some classical, some modern, anything that comes to mind. I've been getting lessons again."

"He can improvise a version of pretty much anything," Carson said, feeling a surge of pride that it was *his* friend who could do all these things.

"Really?" Mairi beamed at him. "Maybe we'll try a few things sometime over the break. I write songs and sell them some times. I'd like to get a fellow musicians ideas on things."

"You know, we could always just drag the piano in here," Collin suggested. "You know it'll happen somewhere along the line."

"What, the piano in here?" If they did that, Rodney and Mairi would never get to play anything but Christmas carols.

"Relax, we can move it back," Collin said breezily, "If you guys don't want our creative input. But you know, we could be a useful audience for you! We all like different things."

"I don't think Mairi writes pop rock, Col," Isobel said.

"Maybe she should, that's what sells!" Collin said getting up. "C'mon, Al, give me a hand...no, Sonny, you're not helping, not if you've had broken ribs."

That was his brother all over. Other people talked about things, and he might joke about being lazy, but Collin was the one that actually got up and acted on ideas even if he didn't have them himself that often.

"Seriously, we've moving the *piano*?" But his brother was moving to follow Collin, and Rodney sort of hesitated, like he wasn't sure if he should be trying to help or not.

Thankfully, Grant seemed oblivious.

"Pop music is, is an expanding market," Grant said half with his mouth full. "The, the new media that is being produced will supersede tapes." He nodded to himself. "They'll...they'll figure out how to do it for visual things too. Or they should be working on it. It should work."

Carson blinked a little. He was never sure if Grant was basing these pronouncements on information or something in his own head.

"CDs cost though," Mairi said. "The big artists are using them but, smaller independent ones can't afford it. "

Grant shook his head. "Will become cost efficient. In time."

"Economies of scale," Rodney agreed, leaning back into the sofa, and Carson knew where Rodney had picked *that* up from. At least he could be sure what they did when they sequestered themselves into one bedroom or the other now. "I'm more interested in the miniaturization of technology, but I don't think tiny CDs are that... viable."

"Portable is good," Grant said miming it with his hands, and Carson wished he'd been able to afford one of the really portable CD players for Rodney, but they were way too expensive. "Portable opens... open other avenues of demand. New area of development. Paradigm shift."

"So we should invest in CDs?" Jamie asked, sounding amused. "That's more advice than I've ever had from Allan."

"Computers and technology. Biggest growth area. Anything portable. Phones, computers..." Grant nodded. "Communication is needed by everyone... so... so there will be companies and... things."

There was a crashing sound as Allan tried to stop the piano crashing into the door frame. "Hey, they let you fly multimillion pound jets? You can't even steer a piano."

"It doesn't have wings," Collin said reasonably. "Shift yourselves, piano coming through."

Rodney finally did move, trying to shift the sofa out of the way, and that got Carson to stand up, while Grant stayed happily seated on it. "Ooof, you guys are going to have to put it back before you leave town."

"Not like that's a problem," Collin said as they all moved the furniture around, with Grant in situ. "Your piano. Okay, let's hear what you can do Rodney." 

Carson grinned at him. "Go on, Rodney," he said, patting him gently on the arm. "He's tons better than I was," he said to his brothers and sisters. 

"That doesn't say much," Isobel said wryly.

"Carson can read x-rays," Rodney shrugged. "It's not a performance art, but it’s interesting. Useful, too." But he sat down at the bench, and lifted the key cover. "Okay, I'm taking requests."

"Know anything from Top Gun?" Collin asked with a smile and Carson chuckled.

"He knows *everything* from that," Carson replied. "He's always getting requests for that at the coffee bar."

"We need more movies to come out so people might start asking me for other songs," Rodney griped, but he was already poising to play.

"How about Loving Feeling?" Isobel suggested. "I sang that at a gig not that long ago."

Rodney snorted, and started to play the beginning. "I'm not sure I know all of it, and I won't sing along, so." 

Carson knew it didn't matter, he was here with his family, and there would be laughing, bad singing, bickering and everything was going to be great. And if he noticed how blue Rodney's eyes were a little more than usual, or how great he looked when he laughed, well, he put that down to his Scottish sentimentality, and Christmas spirit.

 

He was warm, but his nose was cold.

It was sort of a weird thing to be aware of, but Rodney enjoyed sleeping face down, burrowed up, and his nose was cold because someone had pulled the sheets back?

There was a warmth on him, and a little peck of a kiss that was forbidden and sweet on his cheek, and he opened his eyes enough to see Grant peering at him, eyes bright with excitement.

"Hi." He smiled at Grant. Grant's breath smelled like something foodish that he'd tucked away. Grapes, maybe. " 'een downstairs?"

"I... I heard people up and I went and looked," Grant said in an overly loud whisper. "Santa made it down through the fire and there is a special breakfast and presents..."

"Who else is up?" Rodney shifted, sliding and arm around Grant for a moment before he started to stand up.

"Collin, Ai..Aileen, Shona and Lachlan. Allan is in the shower," Grant said. "Carson isn't. Should we wake him up?"

"Yeah." Rodney moved, gentled Grant out of bed slowly. He liked that close comfortableness, but it was cold in the room, so he leaned to get his sweater. "Mmm. It smells nice."

"It is! Lots of nice food so, Carson would have to get up soon anyway," Grant said moving out of the way.

It was nice, getting up on their own time, moving together, just the two of them. Sometimes, Rodney missed that. "Okay, let's get Carson up."

Grant grinned at him and bounced up again. "It's Christmas, not Jeannie Day so Santa didn't forget us this year. Shona told him where to find me."

“Santa's probably wanted to see you for a long time." He got steadily to his feet, and leaned over to hug Grant for a second.

Grant hugged him back. He smiled, and then tugged him in the general direction of the door and Carson's room.

Carson was obviously still tired, because he didn't notice when they opened the door.

"Carson..." Rodney almost tripped on Grant's foot, trying to keep the door from squeaking. "Merry Christmas."

Carson made a sort've flailing motion as a response."Mmph," he grunted.

"Wake up, Carson!" Grant prompted.

It was great to see Carson kick hard at the sheets wrapped around his legs before he sort of lurched to his feet, still caught up in bedding. "You overslept."

"Bloody hell..." Carson looked bleary eyed at them both.

"It's Christmas, Carson, and Santa came," Grant pointed out. "And Shona has made a big breakfast because dinner will be late."

Carson blinked a few times and then smiled. "Merry Christmas, Rodney, Grant. At least you didn’t wake me up like the twins usually do with a flannel. A very cold wet flannel."

"What would they do with a cold wet flannel?" It felt good to watch Carson smile, and Rodney edged in closer, picking up a sweater for Carson from the chair he had situated at his little desk.

"Usually dump it on my face, or down my back," Carson said, getting up and taking the sweater. "We best get down there before the food vanishes. Because we'll be opening presents at the same time."

"Is it a speed event?" Rodney asked, grinning as he moved to herd Grant out the door. "I don't think we really have to worry about the food vanishing."

"You haven't seen my family in action," Carson said as they headed off down the stairs. "It can get a bit loud."

Just from how many of them there were, sure, Rodney assumed that. He started down the stairs, moving steadily, a hand on the railing, one foot in front of the other. It was funny that he'd always hated going down stairs before.

It had been returning to the basement and, even when he was out of the basement, it was a reminder each time that he had failed to get Grant out.

"Merry Christmas, sleepyheads," Lachlan said from where he was literally piling things onto the breakfast table.

"Collin! Leave the bacon until everyone is here!" Shona called out.

"Hey, they snooze, they lose," Collin said, stealing a fresh bread roll and snagging bacon to put inside it.

"It smelled too good to get up," Rodney countered, herding Grant in front of him. "Go wild. Shona, this looks great, all of it..."

"Why thank you, Rodney," Shona replied. "At least someone has manners. Help yourselves, grab a plate, we'll be eating and opening presents in the living room. People tend to just come back and refill as we go along."

"Oh, that's..." Neat, and something he was only starting to get used to doing. Shona didn't much care for how it *looked* as much as for how they could all be there as a family.

Not like his mother, where it was all about appearance. Carson had grabbed a plate and was piling it high.

"Hey, are those scotch pancakes?" Jamie bounded in, all flamboyance and bright smiles. "Gimme, I love them hot with butter."

"Don't eat all of them," Carson said. "I want Rodney and Grant to try them."

"What's a scotch pancake?" Rodney leaned in, grabbed a plate to press into Grant's hands before he got one for himself.

"One of these. Sort've mini pancakes," Carson said. "Here, try it with butter." 

Grant was helping himself to pretty much something of everything even as Collin tugged him towards the living room. He didn't freak this time, which was good.

It was great. There was too much food, and Rodney was moving slower, picking and choosing what he wanted to try the very very most. 

At first it looked like an impossible amount, but he had underestimated the ability of the Becketts to eat. By the time they all went in the living room they had made a big dent in the amount of food there, and he had no doubt they would be going back for more.

Collin had taken up position by the tree and the pile of presents, and Aileen and Allan were getting the stockings that had been hung up over the fireplace. "Okay, stockings everyone," Aileen called out. "Col... no shooting the orange this year,."

"It accidentally exploded. I reckon it was fermenting," Collin said catching the stocking. 

"Mum, Dad, Carson, Rodney... pass that to Rodney, Carson... Grant..."

Grant looked like he'd been passed pure gold as he took his own stocking. "Is...is this mine?" he asked, looking at Rodney.

"Yeah." Rodney took his stocking by the handle, though, waiting for the others to dig through them. Collin had just said something about oranges and oh, hell.

"Actually, the oranges have been replaced this year with candy," Shona said. "I made fudge instead." She smiled at Rodney and he realized that his expression must've given him away.

"But fudge is actually useful, mum," Collin said and Mairi snickered a little.

"You are not likely to die of scurvy if you don't have an orange," Lachlan pointed out. "But Rodney might be very ill if it gets to him."

"Sorry." Except, he wasn't at all. He settled down, balancing his plate on his knees while he watched Grant slowly dig through his stocking, starting to peer through his own. There were little candy things, mint-things that looked nice, maybe air-puffed peppermint things? He wasn't sure, but he took a bite of pancake before he slipped one into his mouth.

It was really nice. Not too sweet but somehow satisfying, a little like a batter cake, and Grant was eating a sausage in a roll as he took each thing out as if it was precious. There were silly things in the stocking as well, the sort've toys they were meant to be too old to play with. There were small wrapped pairs of socks, and bits and pieces, and Grant had each one of his lined up in front of him, and it was the most he'd ever had in his life.

It really was, and it made Rodney sort of sad and sort of pleased too, because Grant could finally have things. "What's caught your eye most?" Rodney asked, leaning in close to Grant. There was no sense in asking what he liked the *most*, because he liked it all

"I..I like this toy," Grant said picking up the Rubik cube. "The colors move. You can make patterns."

Carson grinned. "The idea is to have someone mess it up randomly and then see how quickly you can get it back to that state."

"I think the messing it up part might be the best part," Rodney told him, watching Grant twist it.

"Here, Grant, do you want to try that?" Carson said, even as he ducked Collin's dart gunshot.

Grant nodded, and Carson took the cube and messed it up, then tossed it back to Grant who stared at it for a bit.

"I did mine in under five minutes once," Allan said, as he opened what appeared to be a smart looking tie.

Grant blinked at him a moment, and then, with sure deft movements, twisted and turned the Rubik's cube without hurrying until it was done.

It left Rodney feeling proud of Grant. He dumped his stocking out onto the niche of sofa to his right, and started to sort the candy back into the stocking.

"Right then. Main presents," Shona said. "Who do we have first, Collin, as you are nearest?"

"We have... a present for Grant from Rodney," Collin announce. "Pass it round."

"It's just..." Rodney sat up a little, and just hurriedly put the candy back into his stocking. "Something I made. I didn't get anyone anything really impressive..."

"Believe me, Rodney, there's no obligation," Shona reassured. 

Grant took the gift, and started unwrapping it carefully. Carson settled himself next to Rodney and murmured. "What you get him?"

"Light." It was probably a weird answer, but it was true. He'd tried to think of something that Grant had wanted forever, and other than more books -- books, things to learn were always something Grant wanted -- Grant had wanted light. A light he could keep with him, small, and that never ran out of power.

So he'd made him one. It was small, but it had a battery, and a back up wind up dynamo.

The look on Grant's face as he opened it and realized what it was, was perfect. He looked shocked and amazed, and then, after he had turned it on and off a few times, totally delighted. He leaned over from where he was sitting on the floor and hugged Rodney’s legs.

"You're welcome," Rodney grinned, leaning down to press a hand against Grant's back. "I knew you'd like it."

"I have light!" Grant said looking up at him. "A light of my own! And, and it doesn't matter if it's dark because there is a light now."

A few other presents had been passed around while they had been talking and Carson had ended up with some clothes, and books.

"And here we have a present for Carson from Rodney, and one for Rodney from Carson," Collin said passing them over.

It seemed like the made by himself thing seemed to be a good idea, Rodney decided as he grinned back at his brother. "I thought you might like that. I wish I could've done it sooner." It was more interesting too, to see what people thought of what he got them, than the other way around.

"Hey, you made that?" Jamie asked. "That's cool. Things that are made are the best."

"Which means we've all got one of your creations again this year?" Isobel said. 

"Aye, well, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised, Iz," Jamie answered, and Carson was opening his present beside him.

Rodney heard a laugh as Carson pulled out the item he had made. "It's probably not up to spec," he apologized, a little sheepishly.

"It's a stethoscope, you made me a stethoscope?" Carson asked grinning. "Oh hey, it works.." He placed it on Rodney's chest.

Rodney tried to not laugh, and just grinned while he watched Carson. "I hope so. It's just an acoustic stethoscope. I didn't want to try something more complicated with it and then just ruin its usefulness."

"I can't believe you made that. Dad, have a look at this," Carson said letting his father look at his present. 

"That's a nice piece of equipment there," Lachlan approved. "Nice work, Rodney."

"Open your present!” Carson encouraged.

"If I ask you what it is before I open it, you'll smack me," Rodney bantered, starting to carefully slit the tapeline at the back.

Grant had just opened a present with a homemade scarf in it by Mairi, and had it wrapped around his neck. "What is it?"

Rodney peeled the paper off, and he was pleased by how heavy the whole thing felt -- heavy meant books, and books he knew he'd like, he always liked...

"Holy shit. Carson!"

Carson beamed. "Do you like it? You said you wanted one really badly."

"You, how did you do this?" He stroked a hand over the box carefully. There was part of an 'open box' sticker peeled off at the corner, and Rodney was torn between looking in detail at his prize and hugging Carson, because. Because Carson had spent who knew how much on a gift for *Rodney*, a CD player, and he'd wanted one, he had, because lasers and music and oh.

"I saved up," Carson said smiling. "Mum gave me lots of jobs to do and I did a few lawns this summer. And mum helped as well. She thought it was a good idea."

Shona nodded. "Your music should be encouraged Rodney. And I'm sure Grant and Carson will get a wee bit of use from it too."

"This is going right up into the..." Rodney waved his hand a little, and leaned over to hug Carson. "I almost said 'crash room' but I forget sometimes it's your bedroom, too."

"We'll all try it out," Carson replied, smiling at him. 

"And that's where my present comes in," Lachlan said passing over a wrapped box that definitely had to be CD's of some description.

"You all conspired." It wasn't an accusation, though, because Rodney couldn't stop smiling as he took that wrapped box and looked down at the box on his lap. "I, thank you."

"You deserved it sweetheart," Shona assured him. "Considering what you've been through. Now, the big present for Carson is going to be shared by you and Grant as well okay?" A large box was pushed over towards them and there was really only one thing it could be. A computer.

"Carson should open it," Rodney said, voice tinged with a little awe. CD player, and CDs. He was trying to surreptitiously open the CD box.

Carson nodded and set about tearing his way into the box. 

"Well, that's the boys taken care of for the day," Aileen commented dryly. "I have to say, Jamie, this jewelry is exquisite."

"All made by my own fair hands with the help of twin here," he said nodding to Mairi. "It's from both of us."

"Now this would sell commercially in a big way," Allan agreed, looking at his handcrafted tiepin in the shape of a dollar sign.

The CDs turned out to be two compilations, one of classical music, and one of the greatest hits of the year to date. Awesome. Rodney shifted them to the sofa behind him, and moved to sit beside Grant on the floor, seeing as Carson was already on the floor, plucking at the packing tape on his computer's sales box. "Hey, Grant."

"There are lots of things," Grant whispered to him. "Does that mean something bad will happen?"

"No." Rodney shifted, and slid an arm behind Grant, and just sat there, pulling his plate in close. "It means it's better than mom ever was."

Grant flicked his little light on and off a little while longer before asking very quietly, barely audible over the noise of Beckett siblings, "Is this home?"

"Yeah." Rodney slouched down a little, and picked at scrambled eggs that had gotten sticky bun in them. "We have a home, and this is it."

And surrounded by the sounds of a normal family bickering and laughing, for the first time he actually started to believe it.


End file.
